"You ought to go back to racquetball with Chief O'Brien, Julian," Garak said, testing the fit of his lover's dress uniform. "There isn't much more seam to let out in these pants."

"I shall remember that," the doctor leaned forward for a quick kiss. Although Garak was very affectionate in private, Bashir knew even the dressing room of his shop was too public for a lingering embrace. "I see you've received another gift from your admirer," he teased, nodding at the huge basket of fruit on the worktable. "Last week flowers, before that more flowers. Where will it all end, Garak, where will it all end?"

"Hopefully not with Captain Talljet coming to sweep me off my feet or whatever that odd Terran phrase is. I've certainly asked him to stop but he seems to be ignoring my best efforts," Garak teased back. He was as puzzled as Bashir at Hobie Talljet's recent attentions in the form of gifts and letters. He and the doctor were the only ones who knew about it and it was a big joke with them. Although express shipping Loegerian fruit and a well aged fume blanc all the way to DS9 seemed excessive to the human and the Cardassian, they had been enjoying the pears and would drink the wine some quiet evening in the future.

"What did the latest love letter say?" Bashir asked.

"Oh, more poetic nonsense, not even worth translating for you," Garak assured him, making sure the letter was no longer in the basket and safely locked in his cash drawer.

"Perhaps I should woo you with poetry," Bashir ventured.

"Why bother, when you've already won me with science?" Garak removed half the fruit and handed the basket to Bashir. "Here, Julian, take this to Sisko's dinner party for the admirals, if they want it. We'll never finish it and I hate to see good things go to waste."

"I'm sure they'll want it," Bashir said, removing one more of the plums he was partial to. "Why not share with ThiaZole and Quark?"

"I did. ThiaZole selected the two best citrines and made an astringent rinse from them and Quark sold his three choices to the highest bidder. I'm wondering what your admirals will do with them."

Bashir picked up the basket and pinned Garak for another kiss. "I shall let you know later on."

"Please do." Garak kissed him back, and they might have continued but for a customer just arriving.

Bashir went to his dinner party, and Garak, after making a sale, closed up for the evening and went home.

"You're going to be a tough act to follow in this sector, Harley." Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich drawled across the table.

"Now, Cyril, you know that's a big fucking lie," Admiral Norleu said, reaching for a Loegerian mraglean and offered his old friend and former classmate half. "Why you're lying to me in front of these fine young people is a mystery to me." He waved at the rest of the table. "Now you've got that Izera 5 business behind you, no reason why you shouldn't kick ass out here like you did in Sector 57-289. Maybe more so, probably lots of good fights just over yonder in the badlands."

Except for Colonel Kira, who merely looked bored, there was a rigid silence around the table from the DS9 senior staff at the mention of Izera 5.

"Well, maybe so, maybe so. Seems like the right kind of reward for me, head of Fleet command for this sector. Now that I got those damn Fleet lawyers to see I did the right thing on Izera 5 by doing nothing." He smiled at Norleu's nod. "Better to have our man in charge there than the previous boss, doncha think?"

"If a pirate like Zbricacolvir can be anyone's 'man', I suppose he'd be yours, Cyril, I suppose he'd be yours." Norleu sat back to enjoy the first fresh food he'd had in weeks. "Marvelous hospitality, Captain Sisko. I shall miss this over in Sector 23-892."

Sisko murmured something gracious and offered the basket to Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich.

"Now, now, now, what might this be?" Wiskott-Aldrich asked as he pulled a richly embossed, unsealed envelope from beneath the pear he'd selected. Never shy, the Admiral removed a sheet of matching paper covered in artistic calligraphy. "My, my. I haven't seen such fine paper in years. Have you, Harley?" he asked, handing the sheet to Norleu.

"No, can't say I have. This is very fine indeed," Norleu said, rubbing the paper between his sticky fingers. "Any idea what it says, Cyril?"

"Nope, don't even know what language it is. Any of you?"

Dax said it looked like Klingonese and Worf, after a quick glance, agreed that it was.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Klingon, read it, read it," Wiskott-Aldrich drawled imperiously.

"It's rather personal, sir," Worf said, trying to hand the note back.

"Well, if it's that personal it should never have been left in the basket," Norleu chuckled. "Fair game for the finders."

Bashir started to say something but Wiskott-Aldrich cut him off.

"Can you read Klingonese, Doctor?" he snarled.

"No, sir."

"Then just relax. C'mon, Worf, give with the letter," Wiskott-Aldrich demanded. These punks didn't know how close he was to giving them a show of the famous Wiskott-Aldrich temper.

Worf glanced at Sisko, who nodded, and began to translate:

"I would, in whiteness, compare you to fire
"In darkness, compare you to light
"In ice, compare you to the warm blood of a fallen enemy
"And all of all of all, you are to me,
"You are everything."

"What pretty words," Norleu observed, watching Bashir blush. "Are they for you, Dr. Bashir?"

"No, sir."

"What's that from, Worf?" Jadzia asked.

"An ancient poem called the _The K'vra_."

"It's very romantic. You never say things like that to me," she teased.

"It is not for wooing women."

"Oh?" Kira leaned forward. "What's it for then?"

"Wooing men."

"I thought you Klingons strongly disapproved of same sex liaisons," Norleu said.

Worf almost sighed as he collected his thoughts. He quickly reviewed facts he'd read about this poem and its era. "_The K'vra_ was written three thousand years ago, during a time of intense tribal warfare. The female population declined and taking male concubines was sanctioned for reasons of health and relaxation. To civilize the process of acquiring concubines, warriors began to use _The K'vra_ and a formal and intricate etiquette developed from it. Almost a marriage. The custom was banned when warriors began to take other warriors for concubines instead of the lesser sons of noble houses, vassals and the conquered. By then, so many alliances had been formed among the clans through the practice, the warfare had ceased and even the female population had grown enough to accommodate the new Klingon society. _The K'vra_ was even banned for a few hundred years, but as you can hear even in Standard, it is beautiful and Klingons do appreciate beautiful verse."

"Although not beautiful men anymore," Norleu said, looking at Bashir.

"No, but it would seem Hobie Talljet has... interesting tastes," Worf said, handing the note to Wiskott-Aldrich.

"What's that pirate got to do with it?" the admiral asked, scanning the swirls and dashes.

"This note is from him," Worf said.

"And addressed to whom?" Wiskott-Aldrich demanded.

"Garak."

"Now, why is Hobie Talljet sending Elim Garak love poems, Dr. Bashir?" Norleu asked.

"I've no idea," Bashir deadpanned.

"Well, then, let's ask Garak!" Wiskott-Aldrich swung round on Sisko. "Invite him over, Ben; let's have a look at him."

With no other choice, Sisko rose and commed Garak in his quarters. He apologized for the late notice and the late hour but if Garak would not mind... and was relieved that the Cardassian knew an order, however well camouflaged, when he heard one. Presently, Sisko was pouring a glass of port for the tailor and eyeing Wiskott-Aldrich eyeing Garak.

"You know, Mr. Garak, I'm just dying to know how you know Hobie Talljet," Wiskott-Aldrich said pleasantly without preamble.

"Hobie Talljet...?"

"Now, now, Mr. Garak," Norleu crooned. "Don't deny it; we found his letter to you. 'You are everything'," he recited. "Damn fine words those."

Garak accepted the letter handed to him and thought it was a perfect copy of the one still in his shop. He sighed. "I don't know Captain Talljet. Although he seems to think he knows me, I'm unaware that I've ever met him. I don't even know who he is."

"He's an old friend of Cyril's here," Norleu drawled.

"Shee-eet!"

"How long has he been in contact with you?" Norleu asked, ignoring his fellow admiral. "And why does he write to you in Klingonese?"

"Oh, I've been receiving gifts and letters for three or four weeks. And he writes to me in Klingonese because it's our only common written language, he even apologized for that and said he was learning Kardasi as quickly as he could. I don't know how he knew I knew Klingonese, but it's a language most Cardassians learn."

"Letters and baskets of fruit?" Norleu asked.

"Yes. Sometimes flowers and good bottles of wine and the occasional Cardassian delicacy. That's all. Really."

"You must be encouraging him." Norleu wondered what the hell Hobie saw in this old Cardie. Pretty blue eyes, true ...but still...

"No, not all. The reverse, actually."

"Once he fixes his mind on something, Talljet doesn't need encouraging." Wiskott-Aldrich snarled, his vehemence startling the party. "I will walk you home, Mr. Garak," he said, rising.

"I need to stop by my shop for a moment, so perhaps..."

"I will accompany you," Wiskott-Aldrich rose and turned to Norleu. "I'll meet up with you later, Harley, after you take care of the other business." He glanced at Bashir, thanked his host and led Garak out of Sisko's quarters.

"A lovely evening, Benjamin, I thank you," Norleu rapped out. "Dr. Bashir," he said, rising. "If you would be so kind as to spare me a few moments. Perhaps in your quarters?"

Bashir rose, thanked Sisko for dinner, and followed the admiral out.

"Well, that was odd," Dax said when the door swished closed. "Are you going to be able to work with this new admiral, Benjamin?"

"Of course. Besides, do I have a choice?" Sisko sat back and relaxed for the first time that evening. One admiral at table was bad enough; two, and those two as rough and rowdy as Norleu and Wiskott-Aldrich, both of whom had seen a little too much battle, was sorely trying. "It'll be all right. We'll see as little of Wiskott-Aldrich as we saw of Norleu. DS9 is not a major stop on their schedules."

"Thank god for that," Kira said wearily. "What happened on Izera 5?"

Sisko hated the story so told her the short version. "Some years ago, Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich chose not to interfere with Captain Zbricacolvir's actions there. Ten thousand civilians were killed and Ambassador Spock requested an inquest into why Wiskott-Aldrich did not object to Zbricacolvir's actions when he was the highest ranking Starfleet officer in the sector. Not only did Wiskott-Aldrich not object, he stopped any other ships from rendering aid to the people of Izera 5. There's a rumor that some of those ships were from the Tossarian Autonomous Zone and belonged to Hobie Talljet."

"So he just let ten thousand people die?" Kira asked after a shocked moment.

"He really had no authority to intervene but it also turned out he'd made a deal with Zbricacolvir for access to that space and beyond."

"At the cost of ten thousand lives." Kira was furious.

"Not what I would have done, Kira, but Starfleet didn't see anything wrong with it and here he is now, with us."

"And I hope he stays far away," she said firmly.

"Why is he so interested in Talljet?" Dax asked.

"Unlike Zbricacolvir and other pirates in the Autonomous Zones, Wiskott-Aldrich has never been able to make a deal with Talljet, although he's tried over the years. Talljet is almost an obsession with him," Sisko said, looking at his chrono.

"I've never heard of Hobie Talljet before," Kira said.

"He's pretty obscure these days," Dax told her. `"He was once better known in the Federation than he is now. Long time ago, perhaps a hundred years or more."

"Hmmm." Kira tried to look interested but was plainly bored.

Sisko kept his face bland. "Why don't y'all go home? It's been a long evening."

"You see, Admiral," Garak held up the other love letter, the one that had been in his locked cash drawer all evening. "There are two letters. Don't you find that strange?"

"No, actually, Mr. Garak, I find that thorough. Hobie Talljet's a very thorough man," Wiskott-Aldrich said, examining the tailor under the brighter lights of his display room. "So this is what you do? Make clothes, eh?"

"And alterations. I've really done nothing to deserve Captain Talljet's attentions. Perhaps if you know him, Admiral, you could explain that I'm..." Garak faltered under Wiskott-Aldrich's piercing gaze but recovered. "I'm not interested."

"How do you know you're not interested, if you've never met him?" the Admiral asked. "After all, Fleet's not going to let you marry Dr. Bashir, might as well let Hobie show you a good time."

"I beg your pardon, Admiral? Marry Dr....?" Garak was unsure he'd heard him correctly.

"Harley and I think it's too bad, considering Bashir's got to stay in restricted areas and away from Terra because of his... ah, improvements, shall we say?" Wiskott-Aldrich looked up to see how Garak was taking it and, reassured that the Cardassian wasn't about to scream or faint or attack him, continued. "With a little prodding, Fleet might change its mind about the marriage bit. Bad show to ban a man from his homeworld and then deny him a little company and comfort. And, aside from being a Cardie, you've got no black marks against your conduct here. In fact, Sisko says you've been very helpful on occasion. Of course, it's rather odd that Elim Garak seems not to exist before he arrived on Terok Nor..." Wiskott-Aldrich fixed him with his most probing gaze, the one under which brave men spilled their guts.

"I'm very glad to have Captain Sisko's good opinion," Garak murmured blandly.

"Sisko's a good man. Good man for this station. Wish we had more like him out here. Course, the frontier is either deadly boring or just plain deadly, Mr. Garak, I'm sure you know that living here."

"I've grown used to it, Admiral. This is my 'home'."

"This is nobody's home, Garak," Wiskott-Aldrich said, completely missing the irony. "This is just a place to be before going to the next place. Now if you play your cards right, you could hook up with Hobie Talljet, not only would you have a good time; you'd be set for life."

"How do you know that, Admiral?"

"I've been watching Hobie for years. I've never seen him do any of his lovers wrong."

"Lovers? Does he have a harem?"

"Sometimes. Usually it's just years and years with one person, a male. Doesn't like women, doesn't even like to be around them, I'm told."

"I could hardly throw Dr. Bashir over for Captain Talljet, especially now." Garak was fishing.

"Why not? Hobie is rich, handsome and powerful. Bashir's got nothing compared to that. Just a bunch of backwater postings to keep him away from civilization. Not his fault, but those are the breaks of being a genetic freak."

Garak watched Wiskott-Aldrich leave his shop and resisted the urge to kill him.

"I've got nothing but bad news for you, son," Norleu said as Bashir's door closed behind them. "Fleet won't approve your request to marry Mr. Garak." He watched Bashir not even try to hide his disappointment. "I have worse for you, maybe you want to sit down."

Bashir sat at his dining table and Norleu took a seat opposite him.

"Starfleet is required to refer all discovered cases of genetic enhancement to a biological review board: the Bio Commission." Norleu held up his hand to cut off whatever Bashir was about to say. "We know your dad's in jail, we know you apologized, we know Sisko went to bat for you, we even know several highly placed intelligence service people said you were a good guy (though God knows how those spies heard about you), but the fact remains you didn't turn yourself in when you knew you had this problem. That makes the bio reviewers nervous, very nervous, and they've decided it indicates a deviant trait in you..."

"They've never even met me!"

"But they've seen enough like you to scare them," Norleu said quietly. "About eighty years ago a GE..."

"A what?"

"GE - genetically enhanced - went over the edge on one of the outer colonies. It was very quietly put out of its misery..."

"That's barbaric!"

"After he'd savagely killed forty-one people in cold blood. Scared the pants off everybody." Norleu fixed Bashir with a stern look. "Son, I'm not used to being interrupted, even by non-GEs, and I want you to hear me out because I'm not enjoying this and I want to get it over with. Understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"You already know that, because of your record and your friends and colleagues, Fleet is going to allow you to retain your commission. DS9 is a good spot for you, you might be here or on some other frontier post for the rest of your career and life. You seem to like that, so that's the good news. Terra and, by extension, the Federation have a very quiet policy for GEs when they find them: you can never set foot on Terra again and you can never be in any sector lower than sector forty-nine. We didn't fight the Eugenics Wars for nothing, Bashir, read a little history sometime." Norleu watched the color drain from Bashir's stricken face and truly felt sorry for him. "So, if you show up in any of the restricted areas, Federation Police are authorized to kill you on sight."

"Dear God... Would it be different if I'd turned myself in?"

"No; but it makes the Bio Commission happier when GEs seem to have enough social consciousness to realize they're a danger to society and turn themselves in."

"Then what's the benefit of turning oneself in?"

"Nothing. But I never said it made sense."

"It's not even fair."

"Whoever told you life was fair, Dr. Bashir?"

Bashir was too distracted to hear the door chime so Norleu got up and let Wiskott-Aldrich in. "But, cheer up, son, you get to keep your commission," he said returning to the table.

"I guess you told him about the restrictions," Wiskott-Aldrich said quietly.

"Yeah, I did."

"And that he can't marry his boyfriend?"

"Yeah, that too. I reckon Mr. Garak will be disappointed about this," Norleu said, lifting Bashir's chin so he could meet his eyes.

"I hadn't told Garak I was seeking permission to marry him," Bashir said dully. "I thought if I presented it with no obstacles, it would be easier for him to say yes."

"Linin' up your ducks; good thinking, that." Norleu nodded at the silent Wiskott-Aldrich, who nodded innocently back. "Bashir, there's not a damn thing I can do about your GE status, but I'll do what I can to get Fleet to change its mind about the marriage. Sisko doesn't oppose it and it's a damn shame to maroon a man out here and then make him lonely, even if he is a GE. Besides, it's not like you can breed with your Cardie..."

"Come!" Bashir shouted at the door chime a little louder than he'd intended.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, I shall come back..."

"We were just leaving, Mr. Garak, come in, come in!" Wiskott-Aldrich said pleasantly and turned to Norleu. "Let's get a bottle of something good, go to your ship and find a translation of that Klingon poem, what's it called?"

"_The K'vra_" Garak supplied, looking intently at Bashir.

"Yeah, that, c'mon."

"Is it my imagination or are Admirals Wiskott-Aldrich and Norleu rather... strange?" Garak asked when they were alone.

"They are *very* strange," Bashir said, pulling his lover into a long kiss. "Come to bed."

Garak held the human at arms' length. "Julian, Wiskott-Aldrich told me your request to marry me was denied."

"That's true, Elim," Bashir sighed.

"Were you ever going to ask me?"

"When I had permission."

"Why wait? What if I say no?"

"Because I know you, Elim, if I asked you before I got permission you'd say no because you'd think I couldn't get permission and if I could, it would wreck my career. You've said as much whenever we've discussed marriage in the abstract," Bashir explained. "If I got permission, that would be proof that Fleet approves and it would not impact my career and so you could say yes and no worries. Now, let's go to bed."

"You assume a great deal, Julian." Garak stood his ground.

"Only that you love me as much as I love you."

"Well, that goes without saying, my dear." The Cardassian relaxed a little and drew Bashir back into his arms. "But marriage is moot, so let's not think about it anymore."

"Good. Let's go to bed." Yet again, Bashir tried, unsuccessfully, to move them into the bedroom.

"Wiskott-Aldrich also said you were banned from your homeworld, Julian," Garak said seriously. "What does this mean?"

"That I'm a GE, Elim, genetically enhanced. I can only live on the outer edges of Federation space. I can never go near my home planet again."

Garak was stunned into silence. "Exile," he whispered at length.

Bashir nodded. Garak held him tighter, as if he could protect him from everything. Silently, the Cardassian led him into the bedroom and allowed himself to be undressed. The doctor had just lost his homeworld; Garak would make sure he knew he still had his lover.

Some time went by. Garak continued to receive gifts and letters from Talljet. He continued to politely protest and was politely ignored. It was Garak's hope that Talljet would eventually give up and leave him alone. Alas, he hoped in vain.

**

Edgar Osborne had been born a Brina and named Eykra Oxyahara. When he settled on a career as a diplomat and trade negotiator, he decided that Eykra Oxyahara was too difficult to remember, not to mention rather intimidating. Edgar Osborne, on the other hand, had a nice, friendly ring to it. He had chosen it because Edgar Osborne was the hero of a twenty-third century Terran novel. Having looked over the Federation, Eykra, soon to be Edgar, decided it was the wave of the future and set about making himself agreeable to the Terrans, who, after the Vulcans, seemed to have all the power. It was impossible to make oneself agreeable to the Vulcans, no use even trying. At any rate, he was already much like the humans, low psi rating, a strong faith in the future and the unshakable belief that he could succeed at anything he really put his mind to.

So, he changed his name and underwent minor surgery to smooth out some of his more Brina features. He could do nothing about his wiry build, but that was not a drawback among the humans, in fact, he even took up boxing at the Federation University on Azra 6, where he majored in economics and galactic political theory. While at university, his classmates shortened his name to EO and it stuck. EO presented a pleasantly hatchet-like countenance above a trim body, clad in sober banker's suits. He looked harmless and he was, unless he was cutting a deal with or for you. His first employer was Yegbessigian Trade Council's Commercial Section on Dvra 4, which was in the first stages of thinking about deciding to apply for Federation membership. EO thought this would put him on the ground floor of a Federation planet.

And he would have been right and he would have stayed buried in the back offices of Yegbessigian Trade Council's Commercial Section on Dvra 4, had Dvra 4 not been sucked into the madness of the Ibjeg and Votharian war. The dispute centered around several planetary leases, Dvra 4 being one of them, which the previous Vortharian government had negotiated with the Ibjegians. The Vortharians, realizing what a bad deal they had, decided total war was the only solution to a losing proposition and attacked Ibjegia. Outraged, the Ibjegians fought the Vortharians all the way back to Dvra 4 at the edge of the Vortharian system. During the reoccupation of Dvra 4, the Commander of the Occupation Forces, General Mg, called for an audit of the planet's treasury. The only auditors left alive at that point were the Actuary, Hmbro, and Comptroller, Vrbrg, of the Yegbessigian Trade Council's Commercial Section and their expertise was called upon. Hmbro and Vrbrg brought EO along for the audit because they'd all been huddled in the Yegbessigian Trade Council's Commercial Section's basement for so long during the battle for the city, they were terrified to be out of each other's sight.

So, the junior and only surviving Brina trade negotiator on Dvra 4 found himself counting bullion, revaluing factories, estimating natural resource reserves and otherwise tying to look busy under the watchful eye of General Mg's economic attache, Colonel Pny.

Colonel Pny was probably the smartest Ibjeg in the re-occupation forces and smart enough to keep that fact to himself. He manipulated events so his protégés seemed to solving all the problems while he stayed in the background. And when they failed, he was no where to be found. They don't say 'A target must be visible to be a target' on Ibjeg for nothing. So, having watched EO brilliantly settle a dispute between an angry mine owner, who felt his revalued mine was worth more than the angry banker was willing to lend on it, Pny decided that EO was going to negotiate the peace between the Ibjegians and Votharians. It was time; the war was killing their best and brightest and wrecking everybody's economy.

This was very simply accomplished; Pny merely had EO reassigned to General Mg's staff and told him to bring peace and order to the Administration department. There was always a squabble or power play in progress there and it was only a matter of time before even General Mg noticed how well his staff was functioning. EO, unable to dodge the credit for this, was immediately promoted to General Mg's senior civilian aide.

And it was as General Mg's senior civilian aide that, at the General's request, he began to make overtures to the Votharian civil government for a peace treaty. Poised on the edges of Votharian space, the Ibjeg had retaken everything they thought was theirs and were disinclined to keep fighting. However, the only way to keep the Votharians from regrouping for an attack was to negotiate a quasi-surrender and let them keep what was left of their system.

This could have been highly humiliating for the Votharians but EO presented the treaty and handled the negotiations so smoothly, the Vortharians felt like they were doing the Ibjeg a favor by agreeing to cease hostilities. In a way they were, the Ibjeg were tired of fighting them. On the other hand, the Ibjeg were certain they were doing the Vortharians a favor by not pounding them into space dust. Such was EO's skill as a negotiator that everybody could feel good about a fairly bad deal and the Ibjeg and Vortharian peace treaty still stood, one hundred and fifty Standard years later.

The leader of the Ibjeg peoples decorated EO and offered him anything in the confederation of planets he so desired. EO's only desire was passage out of the Ibjegian confederation of planets and into the Federation. This was speedily granted and, his reputation preceding him, EO soon secured a position as a trade negotiator on Yrta 5, one of the Federation's newer members.

Yrta 5 was swiftly occupied by the neighboring Tvriians and Federation gunboats were dispatched to restore order. However, before they arrived, EO negotiated the marriage of the Tvriian warlord son to the leader of the Yrtaians' daughter. They were star-crossed lovers in the first place, so this was easily accomplished. With peace restored, a new era of mutual cooperation and system harmony was proclaimed. EO was hailed as a miracle worker and offered the second highest position in the Yrt system.

Which he declined, packed his bags, changed his name back to Eykra Oxyahara and went home to Brina. But fame and glory refused to elude him and he was called upon for other negotiations, be it trade, peace, marriage or whatnot - a successful conclusion could only be guaranteed if EO was on the job.

The negotiator was kept quite busy going from conflict to conflict, deal to deal, planet to planet. Some of it he enjoyed; the marriages were rather amusing to arrange, but most of EO's negotiations were undertaken because the alternative to a peaceful settlement was unthinkable.

So, when EO the Peacemaker arrived on DS9 and went immediately to Garak's Tailor Shop, many persons were intrigued by this. Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich happened to be visiting and had Sisko ask EO up to Ops when the negotiator, looking rather grim, emerged from Garak's shop.

"What brings you to DS9, Mr. EO?" Wiskott-Aldrich, a long time admirer of the Brina peacemaker, poured some Ibjeg sparkling water for his guest as Sisko looked on silently.

"Trying to arrange a formal first meeting for a marriage, Admiral, but it's not going very well." EO frowned; he had hoped to arrange a date for the meeting, called a tsra, and leave the same afternoon but it looked like he'd be here for a few days convincing, or trying to convince Garak, to come to the tsra.

"May I ask who your client is?" Wiskott-Aldrich could only hope against hope that...

"Hobie Talljet." EO was not sworn to secrecy and if this Terran had any influence with...

"And the intended?" The Admiral contained his joy, if he could lure Hobie here with the promise of...

"Elim Garak."

Wiskott-Aldrich turned to Sisko in mock surprise. "Your Mr. Garak, Ben, what a surprise! I hope the little tailor realizes what an honor it is to have Mr. EO here to make the arrangements himself. After all," he turned to EO. "You seldom negotiate marriages anymore do you, Mr. EO? What was the last one? That Princess on...? Damn my memory."

"Princess Gyre of Ysstrinia and the King of Lyrat." EO supplied. He was bored, but any wedge under Garak would be helpful.

"That's right!" Wiskott-Aldrich snapped his fingers. "Not only did you negotiate the marriage, you also worked on the peace and economic treaty between their systems and brought the surrounding systems in to an economic trade matrix. I hope you were well paid for that."

"Oh, I was," EO drawled, patiently waiting for this fool human to make his point.

"And now Hobie has sent you to get him Garak," Wiskott-Aldrich said softly. "Well, well, well. How romantic. How efficient. Ben," he turned to Sisko. "You'll have to find another tailor pretty soon. Mr. EO never fails when he undertakes to make a match."

"Oh, I've failed now and then, Admiral. I've just learned to pick my spots better over the years." EO leaned back and regarded the human. "I might fail with Mr. Garak; he seems determined to thwart me; politely so far but I'm sure he can be formidable when he's so inclined. Based upon my one meeting with him this afternoon, I'd say he isn't being shy or coy or angling for a better deal. I had the distinct impression he is simply not interested in meeting Captain Talljet under any circumstances. Do either of you have any influence with him?"

"You want me to..." Garak paused, searching for the right word. "Coquette for this pirate? Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich, are you mad?"

"Heavens, no, Mr. Garak. I’m a hopeless romantic and want nothing but your happiness." Wiskott-Aldrich sat down beside him and patted his arm.

Garak stared at him and then stared at Sisko, seated behind his desk. "I explained to Mr. Oxyahara..."

"We call him EO," Wiskott-Aldrich broke in.

"... that I am very flattered..."

"And you should be, Mr. Garak!"

"However, I am not interested..."

"But Talljet is interested and that's the crucial thing here!"

"Nor am I suited..."

"Nonsense, Mr. Garak! I'm sure you're perfectly charming. Now, EO would like to come back with Talljet on Stardate..."

"Captain Sisko, if I could explain to you..."

"Mr. Garak, do you like it here?"

All the fatherly concern and friendliness had drained from Wiskott-Aldrich's voice and was replaced by cold menace. The Cardassian turned to study him before he answered with equal coldness.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, since you're so happy here," the admiral let a little warmth back into his voice as he back pedaled. "Perhaps you'd like a few months free rent..." Realizing that if Garak left the station, he'd have no shot at Talljet he continued. "Say, three months?"

"Say, six and I'll meet your pirate."

"Done!"

"Shop and quarters," Garak added, watching Sisko massage his temples.

"Done! I'll have EO make all the arrangements and let you know the date."

"Oh, I'll be here," Garak assured him.

"You're not to worry about a thing, Mr. Garak."

"Oh, I won't."

"Excellent!" Wiskott-Aldrich leapt to his feet, ready for action but was wondering why Garak wasn't leaving since the conversation was, as far as he was concerned, over.

Taking a deep breath, the tailor looked up at Wiskott-Aldrich and smiled pleasantly. "I was wondering, Admiral, have you visited the station since the night you found Captain Talljet's letter in the basket of fruit?"

"No."

"So this is only your second visit?"

"Yes. Now if you'll ex..."

"Don't you find it odd that EO chose this particular time, when you're here, to open these... negotiations?"

"Not at all, Mr. Garak. Most fortunate I was here to help with the negotiations, as you so delicately put it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've much to do!" There probably wasn't a happier Admiral in the fleet at that moment.

Garak met Sisko's long suffering gaze across his desk. "Do you think this is odd, Captain Sisko?"

"Not yet, Mr. Garak, not yet. Good afternoon."

Clearly a dismissal; the Cardassian left Ops and returned to his shop.

"How was your day, dear?" Bashir asked absently over dinner that night in his quarters.

"Fine. Hobie Talljet proposed marriage. I said, no, of course, but then Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich bribed me into saying... maybe."

Bashir put down his fork and looked the Cardassian dead in the eye. "Tell me everything."

Garak told him about EO's visit and his subsequent conversation with Wiskott-Aldrich in Sisko's office.

"Why?" Bashir asked.

"Why, what, dear?"

"Why does Talljet want this... what's it called?"

"A tsra."

"Yes. Why does he want it?"

"According to EO, it's a formal meeting for a prospective bridal couple. I assume he wants to 'look me over' so to speak."

Bashir looked extremely dubious but kept his mouth shut.

"And," Garak continued into his lover's skeptical silence. "It would be my opportunity to 'look him over' *if* I were interested."

"Which you are not," Bashir said firmly, fiercely meeting Garak's too innocent gaze. "Are you?"

Dropping his flighty pose, Garak agreed, that, no, he was not interested in Hobie Talljet's offer. Whatever it might be. "But Wiskott-Aldrich is and he wants me to lure Talljet here so he can talk to him."

"And he bribed you with free rent." Bashir's voice was full of disapproval. "Really, Elim, the things you'll do for money."

"Really, Julian, the alternative was to be tossed off the station. From your snug perch as CMO, I'm sure you can't work up much sympathy for the precariousness of my position on this..."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, forgive me, I spoke without thinking, I know that..."

"I hope you don't think I'm going to enjoy having Wiskott-Aldrich throw me at Talljet's head," Garak cut off his apology. "Frankly, my dear, I’m too old for this kind of intrigue and very much out of practice. And I think it's a trap."

"A trap? For you?"

"I don't think so, I think for Wiskott-Aldrich, but I've really no idea. However, if I were Talljet and I were serious about me, I wouldn't be as obvious as he's been."

"What would you do?"

"I'd be more straightforward. I'd come here and make my case, get rejected and leave me in peace." He looked up at Bashir laughing at him. "Wonderful. I've ceased to make sense before the dessert course. I imagine next it will be hysterics and vapors."

"Yours or mine, Elim?" Bashir asked trying to lighten the mood.

Garak managed a weak laugh and relaxed. "I'm nervous, Julian, I'm in a powerful position of no power with Wiskott-Aldrich."

"He's an admiral, Elim; everyone is in that position here."

"Perhaps," Garak conceded. "Sisko certainly didn't come to my rescue today."

"Did you expect him to?"

"No."

"What happens now?"

"Wiskott-Aldrich and EO make whatever arrangements they make and I simply do what I'm told to do."

"Any idea what your orders will be?"

"No."

Realizing they'd exhausted the subject for now, Bashir was a good host and asked if Garak wanted any dessert.

"No."

"Tea?"

"No."

"A nightcap?"

"No."

"Are you staying?"

"If you wish." Just a touch of Cardassian petulance.

"Of course I do." Bashir rounded the table and kissed him passionately. "This too shall pass, Elim."

"Into something worse, probably."

"Don't be negative and come to bed."

"Yes, dear."

Although his shop was busy, life was nice and quiet for Garak after Wiskott-Aldrich left the station. The most unusual thing that happened was ThiaZole appearing with a bolt of the finest cream colored Vrinat silk chiffon the tailor had ever seen and ordered a simple, sleeveless sheath to be made from it. This was very easy work since ThiaZole had roughly the same measurements as the support beams in the airlocks. The astonishing part, to Garak, was that the Cvomi chose not to have it lined.

"But you can see right though it, ThiaZole," the tailor had protested on behalf of whatever modesty might be buried in his masseur.

"It is quite opaque enough, Mr. Garak. One must truly stare hard to see through it and if one is willing to put that much effort into it, then I have no objection to that person seeing my body. I might even be flattered." ThiaZole delivered these witty remarks charmingly and almost lightheartedly.

Garak, having never heard the dour, silent Cvomi speak this way, was nonplused and forgot to charge him for the labor-intensive anti-raveling hand work on the chiffon.

It was a very beautiful gown on ThiaZole. Even Garak admitted that few others would have looked so much like a shaft of moonlight. 'Now where did that amazing idea come from?' he wondered. But, upon reflection, the tailor realized he'd seen a happy ThiaZole and that had made the Cvomi seem lit from within or some such poetic nonsense, however applicable.

When asked point blank where he'd gotten the chiffon, ThiaZole merely said from an old friend. Garak had never really considered that ThiaZole had old friends or a past of any kind, as the Cvomi never discussed the past. So this old friend was a pleasant mystery and if it made the Cvomi happy, well, this must be some old friend indeed. Garak's musing broke off when he realized he'd undercharged the happy Cvomi by more than half, but decided the hell with it. It was only money and he had six months free rent.

Near the end of those six months, a large, mysterious, luxury yacht docked at the station, but no one disembarked.

That same day, Wiskott-Aldrich commed him and told him to dress up, look good and be at airlock 7 at 20:00 the next evening. The tsra would be held then on Hobie Talljet's large, luxurious and mysterious yacht, the _T'Paga_.

Garak commed back that he had other plans and would be available another date.

Wiskott-Aldrich commed that he'd give Garak three more months of free shop and quarters rent if he'd change his plans for the evening.

Garak commed back he wanted six months.

Wiskott-Aldrich offered four.

Garak accepted and went off to see about his wardrobe for the evening of the next day. He briefly allowed himself to wonder if Talljet was early, why was he early?

He found out that evening when he joined Dr. Bashir for dinner at Quark's.

"Taken the entire upstairs, Quark? How extravagant," Garak observed as they were seated in the main room.

"Paid a lot, Garak," Quark told him. "Not even eating my food or drinking my liquor."

"They brought their own?" Bashir asked, wondering if it were some health violation...

"Mostly cold dishes and produce," Quark said, suspecting Bashir's train of thought. "The Customs inspectors looked it over while their chef was laying the spread out. Didn't reject one dish. They've got some of the best wine I've ever seen up there."

"And who is this lavish and self indulgent customer?" Garak asked, seriously suspecting it was Talljet. But why? And why wasn't he asked? Not that he'd go, but still...

"Dunno. Somebody named Qhoshi made all the arrangements over the comm." Quark's eyes gleamed at the memory of those sleek negotiations. "Paid for most of it in advance."

While he was taking their orders, the sound of a transporter hum in the upper level reached them.

"Well, that's posh," Bashir observed.

"Too much trouble to mingle with the hoi polloi in the bar, Doctor," Garak said coolly to Quark, who shrugged, as if to say: 'They pay, they pay well and most of it in advance, who cares how they get around?'

They all glanced up to see shadows moving, too far away to see any detail of who was up there. Laughter and snatches of a strange sing-song babbling drifted down and were lost in the rumble of lower level conversation.

Ever the good host, Quark went up to greet his customers and came down with a more than usually sour face.

Garak was on the verge of waving him over to ask him what demons had taken over his upper level when Bashir's shocked 'Is that ThiaZole?' gasp distracted him. He was further distracted to see the Cvomi moving with his usual grace across the Promenade, making his way to Quark's. What riveted their attention was how he glided in elegant cream chiffon, how unhurried and serene he was.

Of course he was always like that but he was so seldom seen in public, it was considered a momentous event.

Garak was admiring his workmanship when a very familiar voice sliced through his deeper calm.

"'O' ThiaZole, like the arc of the sickle moon that rules the night sky'"

He looked up to see four people at the upper level railing. SaLing, who'd just finished speaking, was standing there in a long cobalt blue, high necked sheath, flanked by Master Ghet, in his cassock, as usual, and Jira Krinat in flowing deep rose silks. They looked only at ThiaZole, making his graceful way across Quark's bar. A fourth man stood, partially obscured by a support column, near the head of the stairs.

"'The empire of dreams lay at your white feet,'" Master Ghet continued.

"'And the armies of memory and passion are yours to command,'" Jira concluded as ThiaZole ascended the stairs and into the arms of a tall, silent man, who stepped into plain view. Tall, lean, with broad shoulders and long wavy hair drawn back loosely over his ears, large dark eyes and classical Vulcanoid features that even Garak - no lover of Vulcan beauty - and even at that distance, considered drop-dead.

The group moved off and the smatterings of conversation and laughter were lost in the usual din of Quark's dinner crowd.

"Who's ThiaZole's handsome friend?" Bashir asked.

"I've no idea," Garak replied. "Do you find that sort of creature handsome, Doctor?" he asked sharply.

"Well, it's rather dark in here," Bashir hedged. "And he was quite far away..."

"Ah."

"Did you make ThiaZole's gown?" Bashir decided a new, safer subject was in order.

"Yes."

"It's lovely."

"It's the wearer, not the gown."

Since Garak refused to be jollied into a better mood, Bashir ate his dinner and told him about his day, station gossip, and how Sisko had snapped at Dax because Wiskott-Aldrich was getting on his nerves.

Garak relaxed and began to enjoy his evening. He was sitting with his back to the wall and had a good view of the bar and, if he lifted his eyes, the railing of the upper level. He was keeping an eye on both and was most interested when, after a long stretch, Jir came gracefully down the stairs with a bill padd in his hands. He and Quark began an intense discussion about it.

"And then there was a vole stampede and they ate Mrs. Azbury in front of the replimat."

"A shame, dear Doctor, Mrs. Azbury was one of my better customers," Garak said, still watching Jir arguing with Quark. The word 'corkage' floated above the din but the rest was lost.

"What are you staring at, Garak?" Bashir almost snapped; he hated any part of the Cardassian's attention anywhere but on him when they were together.

"I don't really know," Garak said as Jir shrugged violently and returned to the upper level. "I suppose we'll have to ask Quark, or perhaps, Mrs. Azbury's ghost." He turned his most charming smile on the doctor but his attention was diverted by a large, black clad figure vaulting elegantly over the upper railing and landing with cat-like grace a few meters away from them.

ThiaZole's 'friend', as Bashir had called him, rose from his crouch and made his lissome way to the bar. He gave Garak a long look as he passed but did not linger. Shod in tall black boots over which an impeccably cut black silk suit clung in all the right places, the long coat swung around his black knees; a soft rustle of silk accompanying his lanky, unhurried, if somewhat tipsy, stride. The funereal ensemble was fortunately relived by a white linen shirt, open at the collar, revealing a fragile neck that seemed incongruous for his height and broad shoulders. Above this, he was indeed as handsome as Bashir had suspected: large dark eyes, high Vulcan cheekbones and upswept brows, wide forehead framed by matte black curls pushed haphazardly back from his temples, strong jaw, more in keeping with his shoulders than his neck, Garak thought, and a wide mouth with full, somewhat sensual lips. This last was disconcerting on face of such classical Vulcan beauty. Although the Vulcans were suspected of being a very sensual people, they did not, as a rule, look it. Nor did they smile in such a pleasantly predatory fashion as the stranger was smiling as he began to converse with Quark.

"My goodness," Bashir observed, wide-eyed, trying to get Garak's attention again. "Stairs must not be quick enough for some people."

"He's trying to intimidate Quark." Garak stated the obvious, continuing to discreetly observe the escalating argument between the Ferengi and the Vulcanoid. The word 'corkage' was flung about like an ancient curse. The Cardassian was beginning to wonder if Odo shouldn't be called when he noticed ThiaZole making his graceful way down the stairs and the stranger raising his voice.

"Kiss me, Quark!" he cried, grabbing the bartender by his lapels. "I like to be kissed when I'm getting fucked!" He dragged the Ferengi half way across the bar and, to the uproarious approval of the bar's patrons, glued his lips to his unwilling victim.

Garak pressed Bashir, who had half risen to intervene, back into his chair and told him to relax and enjoy it. How often did Quark win an argument over a bill in so humiliating a fashion? In fact, everyone had been overcharged by that Ferengi at one time or another, and all were highly amused to see him so appropriately taken down a peg.

It was ThiaZole who rescued Quark and began to reason quietly with him. If anyone could handle Quark, it was ThiaZole, Garak thought and watched the new negotiations with admiration.

So did the stranger, standing safely behind the Cvomi, urging, 'Git 'em, TZ, git 'em!' and was sternly hushed by his protector.

Garak was just losing interest when ThiaZole did something utterly, to Garak, astonishing: not only did he smile, he laughed. Both Quark and Garak froze, for in all the years they'd know the Cvomi, they'd never seen him do either of these things. What was more shocking was that his laugh was musical and his smile simply lit up the room. Quark took a step back and declared that he'd halve his bill, but only for friends of ThiaZole's and if SaLing would swear never to recite poetry in his bar again. Ever.

"Bravo, TZ, well done!" SaLing cried, carefully descending with his brothers. They were all pleasantly smashed, even ThiaZole, something else Garak had ever seen before. "This reminds me of a poem..."

"No poetry!" Quark howled.

ThiaZole laughed again and led the stranger out of Quark's and in the direction of his treatment room, which was also his residence.

"Oh! Just a little one, Quark!" SaLing persisted. He was gently restrained and led away by Jira Krinat.

The show seemed to be over. Garak and Bashir turned back to their apéritifs and interrupted conversation.

"May I join you?" Master Ghet loomed serenely over them.

"By all means! How pleasant to see you again, Master Ghet," Garak said, watching the half Mage sit in the chair Bashir held for him.

"I am glad you say that, Cardassian. We meet again tomorrow evening."

"Do we? I am engaged already, but I could certainly make excuses..."

"Oh, no, no, Mr. Garak, I will see you at the tsra when you meet my eldest brother, Hobie." Master Ghet was examining him closely, not scanning but observing the Cardassian's calm with interest. 'A cool customer, aren't you Garak? Pretending you don't suspect so I'll tell you flat out. Well, if that's how you want it.'

"Oh?" Garak asked, all innocence. "I’m sure I'll enjoy that if he's a pleasant as you and your brothers, SaLing and Jira Krinat."

"Oh, well, Mr. Garak," Ghet said, mimicking the tailor's tone. "I'm sure if you enjoyed Hobie's little, ah, interaction with Quark a few minutes ago, you'll simply adore him tomorrow night. Good evening, gentlemen, pray do not let me disturb you further."

"So... that was Hobie Talljet."

At this unmistakably insecure mumble, something he'd not heard in a quite a while, Garak turned and looked at Bashir. The doctor had fallen strangely silent after Master Ghet had left them in Quark's and then suddenly insisted they leave and go to Garak's quarters. Well, there they were. The Cardassian sat on his couch, watching his lover pace and waiting for whatever human outburst was about to take place.

"So... that was Hobie Talljet," Bashir repeated.

"Yes, Julian." Garak tried to sound soothing and reassuring and thus head off a scene. Bashir, for all his good points, had an unreasonably jealous and possessive streak where the Cardassian was concerned.

"And you'll meet him formally tomorrow." It was a statement, as if Bashir simply wanted to get his facts straight.

"Yes, Julian." Garak knew Bashir had been treating Captain Talljet's overtures as a joke - until now. Now it seemed there was some real competition on his turf, so to speak.

"Because he wants to marry you."

"That's hardly been decided," Garak said softly. He liked to think he liked Bashir just a little off balance but, in truth, an insecure Bashir was a terrible and painful thing for both of them.

"But that's why he's here; to decide if he wants to marry you."

"And vice versa, Julian. It isn't all Talljet's decision," Garak reminded him.

The doctor left off his pacing and faced Garak. "He's very handsome," he stated flatly.

"Rather on the flashy side, don't you think, dear?"

Ah, just the right thing. Bashir's shoulders slumped as the tension drained from them. He took the first deep breath he'd taken since they left Quark's and curled next to Garak on the couch. "So, you don't find him attractive?" he asked softly.

"Perhaps," Garak mused, stroking Bashir's hair. "But, based on his appearance and conduct tonight, I think he'd make a jazzy weekend, but wear thin over the long run."

"Oh?" Bashir looked up, happy again. "And what about me?"

"I'd say you have excellent long-term possibilities, Julian. Very long term." Garak kissed him. "And now, I'm tired. If you're staying, you're sleeping and that's all you're doing tonight."

"Oh, I’m staying and sleeping and that's all," Bashir happily agreed. Good as gold, he even slept for several hours next to Garak before he pounced on him in the station's pre-dawn hours.

With effort, Garak was able to find the most unbecoming suit in his shop for the tsra. Surveying the effect, in the privacy of his quarters, he deemed it a complete success. It was hideous on him: gray (a terrible color for him as well, he looked wan and washed out), shapeless, cheap looking, - just the thing to discourage the luxurious Talljets. At least he hoped so. His brief look at Hobie had disturbed him more than he'd wanted to allow Bashir, who'd been very disturbed, to see. Hobie looked to Garak like the sort of person who got whatever he wanted. Why he wanted Garak was as much of a mystery as ever to the tailor, but, hopefully the meeting would be a failure and he'd be left in peace once more.

Of course he couldn't misbehave too much in front of Wiskott-Aldrich, who'd be chaperoning him on this bizarre evening. Garak ought to be flattered, or at least that's what the admiral had informed him he ought to be, for not only was Wiskott-Aldrich himself to be there but several starfleet officers accompanying him.

Apparently the admiral had made all the arrangements with EO and Garak was simply along for the ride. He did wonder why these people would come all the way out here for one evening. Was Talljet really that interesting?

When he realized the tsra was unavoidable, Garak did some research on his putative swain. Cardassians are notoriously arrogant but still take the adage "Know your opponent" very seriously. And Garak did; he searched the available Federation archives for information on Hobie Talljet. He found surprisingly little and spread over a longer time period than he'd realized. A rough calculation told Garak that his suitor was around one hundred and fifty years old. The first thing he turned up was a photo of Hobie playing null-grav tennis with Prince Arluna of Orisaz. A decade or so earlier, Hobie, Master Ghet beside him, was all dressed up and attending a Klingon wedding. Prior to that he found Hobie here and there at state events, but never very prominently. He was usually standing in the background and, by the looks of it, having an intense discussion with some suspiciously nondescript person. Garak knew from experience such people were the real power in the galaxy. Here and there were scattered the odd notice that Talljet Ltd., Hobie's shipyard, was commissioned to provide a navy or armada or whatnot for this or that potentate. Or that it was licensing some very new and very exciting type of technology to the highest bidder.

Garak was a fast reader but he slowed down when he reached the trial on Vulcan. 'Tried for piracy,' the tailor mused. 'Really, I could never marry someone with such a dubious and public past as that.' He scanned the photos of a younger Hobie in the dock, Jira Krinat, oh, so surprisingly a Vulcan lawyer with a shaved head defending him, SaLing watching the currency trading at the Federation Economics Council in Shirkar, Master Ghet standing serenely between... Garak searched the caption... Sarek and Spock of Vulcan. Garak knew of Spock (who did not?), and thought he'd heard of Sarek as being of some importance long ago and far away, well before and no where near where he was born. He skimmed through what was known of their teenage years on Vulcan: Hobie and Maja, better known now as Master Ghet, Talljet's disappearance from Vulcan; Jir and Ling Talljet's education in law and finance respectively, the founding of Jir's law firm, Talljet and Storen, Ling's refusal of the job he was offered in the Federation Ministry of Planetary Development. Their subsequent withdrawal from Vulcan and the Federation, assumedly to follow their brothers.

The Talljet résumé seemed to be over and Garak was about to shut off his viewer when one last image floated onto his screen. Four scrawny children standing in a dusty, exotic bazaar. Their arms around each other, the taller, perhaps older ones, on the outside, the younger safely between them, they stared into the camera with a mixture of feral wariness and confidence. Even as children, Garak picked out what would become Jira's elegant profile and the powerful line of Hobie's jaw. He recognized the aquiline noses on the very young SaLing and Master Ghet, who were plain even as children. 'Were they ever these ragamuffins?' Garak wondered, almost mesmerized by the picture. Dressed in rags, dirty, skinny, barefoot and yet they looked as if they might take on the galaxy. And win.

"Come," he called, glancing at his chrono and cursing Wiskott-Aldrich for not trusting him to be on time at the airlock. Really, he was only going to be a few, well several, minutes late.

But it was not the admiral; it was two vulcanoids in long black capes with rectangular bronze medallions on the shoulders and long black gowns that Garak realized were cassocks when he saw the tattoos on their hands. They were tall and powerfully built and, aside from the cassocks and tattoos, bore a striking resemblance to Master Ghet. Both had dark hair smoothed back over their ears and dark eyes above high cheekbones. They were pale and thin, yet still had an air of strength and health to them. Their builds were different, Garak decided as they approached him. The slightly taller one was more lithe and exquisitely beautiful. The other vulcanoid was more solidly built and, although quite handsome, lacked the ethereal quality of his companion.

"Are you Mr. Garak?" the taller one asked as politely as was possible in Klingonese, examining him.

"Who else would he be, Tien? The maid?" the other snarled more customarily in that language before Garak could answer.

"Hush, Farro. Are you?" Tien asked again.

"I am," Garak admitted, wondering who these strange people were. "And you are?"

A smile, rather a shy one. "I'm Tien Gozshedrefreingin baMajaKhat and this is my brother, Farro Gozshedrefreingin baMajaKhat."

"I shall never be able to remember all that, sir." Garak said politely.

"Then, I'm Tien and this is Farro."

"How informal on such short acquaintance." Garak protested.

"Then call us Master Khat and let's go," Farro said sharply. He was hungry and although he liked new people, he hated meeting them.

Tien sighed. "We will try not to let Farro destroy your evening, Mr. Garak. We're nervous and not looking forward to this tsra thing. It's so strange and so formal..."

"And stupid," Farro added.

Garak did not disagree. "Ah. Gozshedrefreingin. That's Master Ghet's commune, isn't it? Do you know him?"

"Yes. Let's go." Farro headed for the door.

"Yes, we should get going," Tien said. "We thought we'd come and walk you to uncle Hobie's ship. We wanted to meet you before the tsra."

"That's very kind of you, Master Khat."

"Oh, please call me Tien."

"Tien, then," Garak agreed, herding them out of his quarters. "Captain Talljet is your uncle? Which brother's sons are you then?"

"We're Maja's eldest and youngest sons," Farro said. The JetCheq (half Talljet) could be pleasant now he was on his way to food.

"Maja?"

"Master Ghet, I think you know him as." Tien was looking around the station with interest. "This station is Cardassian design, yes?"

Garak nodded.

"It's surprisingly gaudy for Cardassian design, isn't it?" Tien continued. "I mean, usually Cardassians prefer things quite subdued, plain, almost nondescript. Your ensemble is a perfect example. Or is this yet another tragic example of Starfleet fucking up a perfectly good design with their nasty ideas of comfort and beauty?"

Garak nodded to several starfleet personnel, Chief O'Brien among them, who, overhearing these remarks through the translators on the Promenade, turned to stare at Tien.

Attracted by his red hair or the offended look on his face, Tien slowed and stopped in front of O'Brien. "Something wrong, Terran?" he menaced in Standard.

The Chief stood his ground. "You don't seem to like our station."

"The architecture is okay. It's all the starfleet uniforms that make me want to vomit."

Garak froze, wondering if O'Brien knew he was about to be torn apart and further wondering if he should do something about it.

"When you visit a starfleet station as a *guest*, Tien, you ought to take some Cznana tea for your stomach, as you are bound to see quite a few uniforms." ThiaZole's soft voice glided like a knife between the Klingon master and the Chief, causing each of them to take a slow step back. One needn't know ThiaZole at all to know he was furious with Tien. It was, in fact, rather frightening. The Cvomi drifted around until he was between the JetCheq and the engineer but addressed his remarks to Garak. "Off to the tsra, Mr. Garak?"

"Yes, Mr. Zole, just on our way."

"Hullo, ThiaZole, I'm Farro. D'you remember me?"

"Yes; quite vividly," the Cvomi said tensely. "I see you've met Chief O'Brien. Tien and Farro, this is Chief O'Brien; Chief O'Brien this is Master Khat and Master Khat of the Klingon Empire."

Watching Tien's shoulders slump, Garak could not but admire ThiaZole's finesse. Under Klingon tradition it was very much frowned upon to kill an opponent one had been formally introduced to without a formal challenge; not something Tien was likely to find on the Promenade. On the other hand, Chief O'Brien, although a fool in Garak's opinion, was not fool enough to pick a fight with a high ranking Klingon, which any Klingon who could put 'of the Empire' on the end of their name, undoubtedly was.

"Are we going to stand here all night?" Farro asked, annoyed that they were so pointlessly delayed. If Tien had fought the human, well, that would have been worthwhile, but all this useless staring was getting on his nerves.

"Guess not." Tien deliberately turned his back on O'Brien, wished ThiaZole a glacial good evening, and went on his way with Garak and Farro, not sparing the Chief or the Cvomi another glance.

Garak hoped his evening wasn't going to be much more exciting. He nodded and smiled at Dr. Bashir, who waved from Quark's.

Tien seemed to have lost interest in the station so Farro asked Garak how he liked living with humans.

"Well enough. They have very little interest in me," Garak told him.

"They're brave buggers," Farro said. "Puny, fragile, short lived. No business this far out in space at all. They're not strong enough for it."

"Nonetheless, here they are."

"Well, I don't say they're not determined. Stubborn, too." He glanced at his noli (elder brother). "Foolish, crazy brave sometimes," he smiled. "Now, Cardassians, there's a tough-as-nails, hard-to-kill kind of species for you."

Garak assumed this was a compliment and nodded graciously.

"Kind of on the mean side," Farro continued. "Your people would probably still have Bajor if you hadn't..."

"Farro." Tien's flat voice cut him off. "I'm sure the Bajor situation is well within the will of the unknowable mind of god and your opinion is only going to annoy me, to say nothing of Mr. Garak."

Farro sneered at his brother but turned politely to Garak. "Then I beg *your* pardon, Mr. Garak. I would not want to insult you or your people."

"I am not insulted or annoyed, Farro," Garak assured him. "Ah, here we are," he said, relieved to see Wiskott-Aldrich and company at the airlock.

Four humanoids and a vulcanoid stood next to the admiral. Two of the humanoids were larger than their companions and eyed him with such frank and amused interest he felt uncomfortable.

Farro and Tien moved protectively in front of him and stared them down. Farro was on the verge of speaking when the airlock opened and they went inside.

"There you monsters are!" Master Ghet said to his children in Klingonese, looking annoyed. "I thought you'd been kidnapped or eaten or something. Where did you find them, Mr. Garak?"

"They found me, Master," Garak said in Kardasi and, realizing there were no translator units here, repeated it in Klingonese.

"Oh, do call me Maja, Mr. Garak, my brothers will tease me horribly if you don't."

"I shall be delighted, Maja." He noticed the admiral and his party were confused by the babble.

Maja noticed, too. He switched to Standard to tell them there were no translators and to please be patient with them this evening.

Garak's Standard was good, though far from perfect. The station's translators made him lazy. Bashir occasionally demanded he speak it with him for his own benefit and he did so to humor his lover. He now wished he'd humored him a little more. Standard might be the only common language they had tonight.

"Are you standing there forever?" Ling walked up to the group, speaking sharply in Klingonese (it's a good language for that). "Tien, did you pick a fight on the station? I've had a very angry TZ yelling at me and sounds like for good reason."

"I..."

"You cannot possibly have a good reason for picking a fight with a Starfleeter on a Starfleet station..."

"Well, he might." Maja said to defend his child.

Ling tuned to his nolo (elder brother). "He insulted the station, someone took offense."

"What did you say?" Maja asked and listened to Tien's recital of events. "Before we leave here, my little creature, we will find this Terran, you will apologize and then apologize to ThiaZole." There was no arguing with his tone but Tien, and Farro, looked like they might try when Jir came around the corner and said Hobie was threatening to cut off the oxygen where they were if they did not come to the dining room right now, if not sooner. He repeated it in Standard for the admiral and his party.

"And he means that," one of the large humanoids said.

"Never keep Hobie waiting," the other added, and winked at Garak. "For anything."

"Who," Maja asked the officer in a dangerous tone. "Are you?"

"Colonel Darcy Rubicion, Federation Marines, at your service, sir." He even clicked his immaculate heels together. "May I present my cousin, Captain Olivier Doxoru of the USS _Lutoslowski_."

"And better rascals you'll never meet in your lives, Nolis (little brothers)!" Hobie, impatient had come to see what the hold up was and now flung himself into his guests' arms. There was much back thumping. "Dox and Darcy, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich invited us to your tsra fara bara tralalalala," Rubicion told him. He was tall, dark and would have been handsome but for the scar on one cheek and a crooked nose, broken and not set properly on a battlefield.

"Oh, yeah," Hobie looked around until he found the Cardassian. "Hi."

"Hi," Garak said.

Hobie turned to Doxoru. "You need a drink," he said leading them into the ship. "How's your brother?" Hobie asked wistfully.

"Fine."

"I miss him."

"Lawdy, what a liar you are, Hobie," Doxoru laughed. "He don't miss you. Probably hasn't thought of you in years." Doxoru had a tenor laugh to go with his voice, which was lean and mellow. He was as tall as Rubicion but not as broad, built for leaping around burning bridges, not pummeling his opponents in hand to hand combat. Although he was good at that too. He was not as dark as his cousin, sandy brown hair that went blond in the sun, if he got enough, tawny brown eyes surrounded by lines, some of them from laughter, some not. He had high cheekbones like his cousin but a rounder, softer face that smiled and laughed with ease.

"I do miss him," Hobie insisted.

"You miss them all, Hobie," Rubicion said coolly, glancing at Garak to see how he was taking this conversation.

Garak returned the look with one of polite boredom and looked around at the luxurious rooms they passed through. The walls were covered with paintings, even the corridors were like galleries. At intervals there were sculptures in stone, metal, wood, and materials Garak did not recognize. Hobie led them into a large room, dominated by a long table. The floor was covered with Ivirsian rugs; they were magnificent and Garak had never seen so many in one place.

Doxoru whistled, "You do do things up right, Hobie."

"The _T'Paga_ is built for comfort, not for speed. I leave the decor to Maja and the commune."

"He reserves the right to refuse anything," Maja said to Rubicion. "Even if it's perfect."

Hobie smiled at Wiskott-Aldrich. "I'm a barbarian, Admiral, everyone knows that. Excuse me." He walked over to a comm unit. "Neria-Tza, give the bridge to someone harmless and bring the boys down for dinner. Dox and Darcy are here!" He turned to the lovely young man approaching with a dish in his hand. "Polmira! This is Dox and Darcy."

"How de do?" Polmira said but remained focused on Hobie. "Parent-olio..." (parent darling)

"Go round up some more chairs, honey." Hobie waved a bottle at the company. "Mavla on ice, Dox?"

"Love it."

"Parent, can Farro or Tien..."

"Farro, Tien, go get some chairs. Six, should be enough. Let's see, Darcy, Nara and soda, right?"

"Completely." Rubicion looked pleased.

"Kanaar, Mr. Garak?" Hobie asked the Cardassian.

"No, thank you."

"Ummm, let's see what else we have. Ah..."

"Nothing, thank you." Garak wasn't being fussy, he'd noticed several bottles of really good Cardassian wine on the table and didn't want to wreck his palate with kanaar.

"Parent," Polmira tried again.

"What, darling?"

"This cook you picked up on Cardassia is insane."

"Oh? Why?"

"Look at these peppers." Polmira handed him the plate. "We'll all die."

Hobie could smell, if not feel the hot peppers from where he was. "Is it all like this?"

Polmira nodded.

Bravely, Hobie took the plate from him and approached Garak. "Do you like these, Mr. Garak?" he said in Klingonese, offering them to him.

"Yes, very much," Garak said, accepting a pepper and eating it. "It's perfect."

"Not too hot?"

"No, this is how Zra peppers are supposed to be."

They were interrupted by half a dozen scruffy men charging in and throwing themselves on Doxoru and Rubicion. There was much back slapping and loud talking in several languages. Obviously it was going to be a poly-linguistic night.

In the confusion, Hobie sent Polmira to their regular cook to ask him to make extra food for the extra guests and make it something non-Cardassians could eat.

"Hey, Neria, d'you like these?" Hobie held out the plate to him. "Careful, they're hot."

Neria chomped one down and took another. "They're great! We should always have these."

"I'll bear that in mind." Hobie said dryly, watching the peppers disappear among his crew.

"Hey, Darcy, how's your brother?" Neria asked.

"Fine, he misses you."

"I miss him, too."

Doxoru hid his smile behind his glass.

Hobie frowned and changed the subject: "Okay, Admiral, who are these people?"

"Very nice of you to ask, Captain Talljet," Wiskott-Aldrich laughed, he was thoroughly enjoying being among these gracious and gallant pirates. "This is Professor Sivarg, from the Vulcan Institute of Physics," he introduced the middle aged Vulcan, who'd gotten a relan tea from Jir. "And Lieutenant Athos, from the Fleet Diplomatic Corps."

"What species?" Ling asked sharply.

"Betazoid," Athos bowed politely. "I hope that will not be a problem this evening, will it?" the short and dark telepath asked.

"Do you *sense* it will be a problem, 'zoid?" Maja snarled, irritated that they'd either have to shield all evening or jam the 'zoids telefields. The first would be a nuisance; the second would be rude.

"Shiiiiow, Noli," Hobie warned in Patois and then returned to Standard. "Not a problem, Commander," he said to the Betazoid. "We'll act Vulcan tonight and shield."

"And you, sir?" Jir asked the cocoa brown man standing silently by Athos.

"I'm Commander Phrenacine, chief engineer of Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich's flagship," he said in a deep, pleasing voice.

"Ahhhh," Jir sighed. "A telepath, a physicist and an engineer. I shall be lost in any conversation with you. I can only hope Mr. Garak will take pity on my ignorance and talk to me about literature and art."

"I should be delighted, Mr. Krinat."

"Oh! Call me Jir!"

"Jir." Garak nodded at EO, who'd just entered and cast a horrified look at the assembled ruffians. Everyone was dressed up except Hobie's newly invited senior crew and they looked like antique highwaymen.

Ling, Jir and Maja were wearing the same gowns they had on at Quark's the previous evening. Hobie had changed into a long, black, heavily pleated silk gown that Garak recognized as a classic Vulcan design. The flowing lines hid the powerful body that had leaped from the second level of Quark's last night but still conveyed the grace and beauty of it. It softened Hobie for Garak, made him less frightening, less dangerous.

Garak was happy to be ignored because it gave him a chance to observe his *host* and prospective spouse. He watched Hobie pour drinks, laughing and talking with his old friends. It made the tsra seem almost like a party. In fact, Garak, in a pleasant conversation with Polmira about the crazy Cardassian cook they'd borrowed from a good restaurant on Cardassia Prime (a restaurant Garak had heard of but could never in his life afford), had nearly forgotten why he was there until he saw EO's shocked face. Evidently tsras were supposed to be conducted with more decorum. Colonel Rubicion was juggling knives and shot glasses, much to everyone's amusement, except EO's.

The juggling concluded just as dinner was hauled out and everyone found their place card and sat down.

"Mraht," Hobie intoned.

"AmChiera," the Talljets, JetCheqs, pirates, and, surprisingly to Garak, Rubicion and Dox answered.

Hobie looked down the table at Garak and then looked at Wiskott-Aldrich seated next to him, on his right. He picked up the admiral's place card and asked, "Who changed the seating?"

"I did," Polmira said, offering Garak some of the very spicy first course.

"Why?" Hobie asked his eldest child.

"You had poor Mr. Garak marooned at the wrong end of the table," Polmira smiled sweetly at the Cardassian. "I've rescued you, sir, you're now in the children's section."

With Tien on his right and Polmira on his left and Farro and Ling also nearby, Garak concluded that he had indeed been rescued. "I thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Polmira whispered back.

"A rather unusual sort of Romulan, those words you said, is it not, Polmira?" Garak asked.

"My admiration, Mr. Garak, that you recognized it as Rom," Polmira smiled. "It's old old church Rom, from the Talljet sect, which died out long ago but my Parent and Uncles still pray in it."

"Talljet sect?" Garak asked, intrigued.

"We were taken in as orphans on Magidrian by the Talljet Monastery there," Maja explained.

"When there was one," Jir said, bitterly.

Maja ignored him and continued, "They gave us our name and we've kept some of their ways in the family." The Master hesitated and then said haltingly, as if he was not sure how or if he should say it. "We've never really found any better way to believe that the universe is a good and loving place."

"It must have been a profound influence," Garak observed. "As you have stayed in religion."

Maja laughed. "I have been lucky to be able to make a religion of art and art my religion." He glanced around the table. "All the Talljets and JetCheqs have been lucky that way. Even in hell, we've fused our temporal and spiritual lives."

"Maybe yours is luck, Maja, the rest of us have worked hard for it," Ling said mildly, taking the edge off his words.

"Well, mine was luck," Hobie called down the table. "Bad luck, that turned into a blessing."

Tien leaned toward Garak and caught his and Polmira's eye. "We must be careful not to say how sexy Uncle Hobie's gown is as he appears to be paying more attention than I thought."

"Rascal," Hobie said and went back to his dinner partners.

"Well, whatever," Maja said, smiling. "That we live in the grace and mercy of the unknowable mind of god is all that matters."

Garak realized he never seen Maja smile before and that the usually dour Master had been smiling most of the evening. He further realized that his smile was delightful. "What do the words mean?" he asked.

"Which?" Polmira asked.

"'Marahote'" Garak struggled with the pronunciation.

"Oh, very close for one hearing, Mr. Garak," Polmira praised. "'Mraht' means 'Oh, Lord' and 'AmChiera' means 'Save us'. We always say this before meals or, well, anything we feel needs blessing."

"That sounds like a rather desperate prayer before meals," Garak said.

"Well, it's like this," Farro broke into whatever Polmira was about to say. "Life is uncertain. You never know when you'll need God to save your ass, so it's better to ask in advance, put the unknowable mind on alert, so to speak." He looked over at Jir and then Ling, who were falling off their chairs laughing. "Well, don't it, Polmi?"

Polmira was laughing, too. "Yes, Cousin. That's not what I was going to say, Mr. Garak, but that is the gist of it."

"Thank you." Garak was laughing and enjoying himself more than he thought possible. He looked around the table and found Hobie's eye on him, assessing him, and he looked back into Polmira's sympathetic face.

"Where did you learn your Klingonese, Polmira? It's quite elegant."

"Oh, thank you," the JetCheq said, pleased. "I learned in the Gozshedrefreingin commune. I was partly raised there with Tien, Hraja and Farro." He tilted his chin at his two cousins.

"Hraja?" Garak asked.

"My middle son, who does not travel far from the Federation's center," Maja said quietly, closing the subject like a tomb.

"Why is that?" Garak asked, deliberately oblivious to Maja's tone.

"Personal and political reasons." Moss spread over the closed tomb and night fell.

Garak was about to pursue the subject when Tien whispered a very succinct history of the brief rein of Maja I of the Rom-Klong Empire and Hraja's rape by KmordriYhet.

"I see," Garak said, impressed. "And is your brother the famous sculptor?"

"He's a sculptor," Tien said, nonplused. Hraja was Hraja to him.

"Is he the Hraja who made the bas relief sculptures for the Trisian Palace of Culture?" Garak asked.

Tien, a Master Painter, looked at Farro, a Master Sculptor, who knew more about this and Farro nodded. "How do you know about him, Mr. Garak?" Tien asked.

"He's very famous, Tien. Some of his work is in collections on Cardassia," Garak explained. "It seems a shame the Empire has lost such a talented artisan," he continued.

"It is also a shame he could not be here tonight to meet you, Mr. Garak," Polmira said sweetly. "Perhaps, in the future."

"I would be honored," Garak said and meant it. "Are you an only child, Polmira?"

"I have a brother."

"You have *two* brothers." Hobie's voice was like ice.

"I have *two* brothers, Mr. Garak. One who very much regrets that he could not be here tonight to meet you," Polmira amended and then turned an icy stare on his parent. "And one who could only ever be here in spirit."

Garak was deeply impressed that it was Hobie who looked away first. 'So, there's some steel in you, little Polmira,' he was thinking and missed what Ling leaned over to say to him. "Repeat, please, Ling?"

"I said, we are learning Kardasi as quickly as we can but it's slow going since we cannot read it out of our tutor's confusing Cardassian telefield."

Garak smiled very evilly and said the telepaths of the galaxy must leave the Cardassians some mystery. This remark was very well received, along with the very excellent second course. "You might not like this cook, Polmira, but this is the best meal I've had in years."

"Then this evening will not have been a complete waste of time, no?"

"No, not at all," Garak agreed. Relaxed, he turned to listen to an argument between Ling and Farro about the worst poem in a new anthology. Since he was not the center of their attention at the moment, Garak looked around the table. Polmira was on his left and Jir was beside Polmira. Interestingly, Jir was beside Commander Athos, the diplomat, and to Athos' left was Professor Sivarg, the Vulcan physicist. The three were chatting quite amiably, in Vulcan, it sounded to Garak, who spoke Rom and could almost understand the Federation dialect. He caught the words 'new technologies', 'transfer', 'narrow-mindedness', 'money', or perhaps the word was 'funding', and something about the difficulty of parking in downtown Shirkar.

Seated to Professor Sivarg's left was Doxoru and beside him, Rubicion. Ranged about them, Hobie's crew were in an animated conversation with both men. Hobie sat next to them, but Garak found the pirate listening to his guests while slyly observing him. The Cardassian could hardly fault his host, as he was doing the same thing himself. Next to Hobie, Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich was chatting in Standard with Ling over Commander Phrenacine, seated between them. They seemed to be talking about financing new starship technology but it was too much effort to try to decipher the conversation.

On Ling's left sat Maja and next to him, Farro and then Tien and back to Garak. Since there seemed to be no intrigue for the Cardassian to get into, he simply sat back and enjoyed the pleasant company in the 'children's section'.

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth course, all the dishes at Hobie's end of the table were pushed aside and several major space battles were re-fought with the condiments and silverware. The children looked on, amused, and Farro suggested that if wars could be fought at the dinner table it would save much in real estate. Dessert consisted of very fine Cardassian cheese and fresh fruit, something Garak hadn't seen, well, not since the last basket of Cardie fruit from Hobie, several weeks ago. Feeling quite mellow, Garak decided to endear himself to Wiskott-Aldrich and said he'd never seen a ship like this before. Right on cue, Polmira suggested a tour and they rose en masse. They were stuffed; a walk would do everyone good.

The _T'Paga_, although jammed with artwork, was as boring to Garak as any other ship he'd toured. It became even more boring as they descended into engineering, where there was considerably less art to look at. While Neria-Tza was explaining something or other, Hobie drew Garak aside and handed him an envelope.

Garak stared at the spiky Kardasi handwriting and completely missed what Hobie said to him. "What was that?" he asked.

"He'd like us to bring back an answer when we drop the cook off on Cardassia Prime," Hobie said carefully to his stunned guest. He led him to his desk in an alcove on the engine room mezzanine. "Here, you can read it here," he said, showing Garak paper, envelopes and an ink stylo. "We'll leave Polmira to show you the way to the lounge when you've finished."

"Thank you," Garak said quietly and began to open the letter. He was relieved that Hobie had the good grace to withdraw and leave him with the past.

'My darling Elim,' he read. 'What good fortune that Hobie Talljet thinks you're spouse material. I had thought so; alas, my wife disagreed. And then, of course, there was your exile status I could never undo.

'Talljet's family sent someone named Rezdi, I believe a nephew or cousin, to interview me about you. I don't know how they knew I knew you, but I gave you my highest recommendation. My *very* highest and praised you for all the charming things you are, my dear.

'I have never forgotten you, Elim, and hope you have not forgotten me. Perhaps it is a kinder fate that will bring us together again.

'Until then, I send you my fondest love,

'Tirn Xriet'

Garak sat for a moment, staring at the Legate seal beside Xriet's name until it registered that not only had the Gul survived, he'd flourished. 'While I rotted on DS9,' Garak thought bitterly. Knowing his rage and pain were as useless as ever, he composed a polite reply, thanking *Legate* Xriet for his good wishes and congratulating him on his advancement in Cardassian society. Very carefully, Garak mentioned that his life with the Terrans was not onerous and, although he missed Cardassia and the Legate himself as much as ever, all was as well as could be well.

It was all polite, formal and grammatical, written in Garak's beautiful Kardasi script, something Xriet had always admired. And he knew that Xriet would remember the flowing writing and not the words, in much the same way as his former lover had only listened to his voice and not what he said. Taking a deep breath, Garak folded his note and put it into an envelope. He wondered if it would make Xriet jealous if he sealed the letter with Talljet's embossed sealer, but he decided it would be rude to use more of Hobie's supplies than he'd already used. He further considered that Talljet must be rich to have such fine paper and ink stylos. Garak could not remember seeing so much paper in one place outside of an art supplier's shop. He wrote Xriet's name on the envelope and rose to find Polmira waiting discreetly outside.

There was something very kind and comforting in the young man's smile. Garak reminded himself that the 'young man' was more than twice his age. He handed Polmira the envelope and watched him slip it into his pocket. "Did you know?"

"That we interviewed Legate Xriet about you or that he was your lover and protector on Terok Nor?"

"Both."

"Yes."

"How did you know about Terok Nor?"

"Rezdi told me before he went to Cardassia Prime to interview the Legate." Polmira, sensing Garak's distress and embarrassment, decided to be forthcoming.

"Who is Rezdi?" Almost against his will, something of the old interrogator asserted itself in Garak.

"My cousin," Polmira answered mildly, feeling sad that Garak was upset by this.

"And how did you Talljets find out?"

"Gossip." Polmira slowed so Garak would look at him. "Mr. Garak, you lived with one of the most powerful men in the system. He loved you very much. Beings remember something like that, even if the little pink slugs don't hear of it."

Garak almost smiled at the Klingon slang for humans and grew serious again. "ThiaZole did not tell you, did he?"

"Father says that Cvomi could keep secrets from god."

"I think he could," Garak agreed, dryly. "It is not something I’m proud of, Polmira."

"That Xriet loved you and you didn't love him but let him think you did?"

Garak hid his surprise at Polmira's astuteness and then remembered he was a telepath and a powerful one. "You would not understand."

"That you took the best shelter offered from your suffering? That you made him happy in a lie? That you didn't die of shame? That he left you?" Polmira looked carefully at him. "That's the part my cousins and I could not understand: that he left you when he loved you so much. That he chose Cardassia over you."

"And would you give up the Talljets for a lover, any lover, Polmira?"

The JetCheq smiled wryly, "I must thank the unknowable mind of god that I have never had to make such a terrible decision." He let his smile fade and grew serious again. "Mr. Garak, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Tragic lives are a waste and should be confined to the stage and ancient history."

"Is that a Jir or Ling saying?"

"It's my Parent's saying." Polmira began to walk again. "And he means it, too," he continued. "Life is too hard and too short to suffer unnecessarily. Whatever you did to be exiled to that terrible place, you've suffered enough, haven't you?"

"Do you know what I did?"

"No, it's something we can't find out," Polmira admitted. "But it doesn't make a damn bit of difference."

"It might if you knew."

"Then tell me."

"No."

"Then it doesn't make a damn bit of difference, does it?"

Garak relaxed; his secret was safe. Even the Talljet's couldn't twist it from Cardassia. "That's the strangest blend of logic and passion I've heard in quite a while, Polmira. I salute you."

Polmira laughed. "I am my father's child as well as half Vulcan. You should hear me when I really debate something. Ah, here we are."

They turned a corner and Garak found himself in an opulent room, full of beautiful art, rugs and furniture, all of which he noticed later because he was completely distracted by finding Bashir, O'Brien, Sisko and Jake in it. A moment later, he noticed ThiaZole curled in a chair, drinking something orange in a long glass. The Cvomi wore black silk pants and tunic and looked elegant enough to belong in the room. The Starfleeters wore their everyday uniform and looked, in addition to uncomfortable, out of place. Jake, in a blazer Garak had recently made for him, looked relaxed and curious and was the only one who smiled at Garak when he came in.

"I think everyone knows everyone," Polmira introduced himself to the humans in Standard, offered them more drinks, and then said something Garak could not understand to ThiaZole. He was answered in the same language. "The tour must be taking a bit longer than expected," he said in Standard and switched to Klingonese to offer Garak a drink.

"Let's speak Standard, Polmira, shall we? I need to practice," Garak said, accepting a cognac.

"Such a loathsome language," ThiaZole snarled, in Standard, from his chair.

"Sometimes, Mr. Zole, sometimes," Sisko agreed.

"I thought you weren't coming tonight, TZ," Polmira said.

"I decided to come watch Tien apologize to Mr. O'Brien here," ThiaZole waved at the redhead.

"I don't need an apology," O'Brien insisted.

"*I* want to see it," the Cvomi said and lapsed back into his meditation. No one chose to disturb him further.

Polmira was rather sorry he'd asked in the first place and was relieved when Hobie and the other guests joined them.

"Hullo, TZ, thought you couldn't make it," Hobie said pleasantly.

"I want to watch Tien apologize to Mr. O'Brien," ThiaZole said, inclining his head to the chief.

"Oh? Was that little contretemps with you, sir?" Hobie asked.

"Oh, I'd hardly call it that, Captain Talljet."

"Huh." Hobie turned and met ThiaZole's shaded stare. "Tien. Come here, please."

Tien came up and looked strangely pleased to see O'Brien. "Oh! Hello again." He looked at his uncle. "Am I to apologize now?"

"Yes, fire away."

"I'm very sorry I was rude to you, Mr. O'Brien," Tien said carefully, as if speaking to an idiot. "I hate Starfleet and these horrible uniforms do so bring out the worst in me. But, as long as you're here, I just have to accept you until you go away."

There was a puzzled silence and then Hobie asked ThiaZole, "How was that?"

"Hideous. Try again," the enraged Cvomi hissed.

"TZ, the boy was raised in a Klingon commune. This is probably the best he can do." Hobie said, firmly.

"Chief O'Brien, do forgive me! I was nervous meeting Mr. Garak and when I'm nervous, I sometimes lash out at Starfleet uniforms," Tien rushed this more truthful statement out and added, "If I'd only known you were Mr. Garak's friend, I'd never..."

"I accept yer apology, Master Khat. That'll do fine." O'Brien insisted.

"Aren't you Mr. Garak's friend?" Tien asked.

"I'd be more Mr. Garak's acquaintance than friend, sir."

"Oh..." Tien looked at Hobie. "Does that mean I can kill him now?" He smiled. "Ha ha! Just kidding, really! Oh, do come sit over here, Mr. O'Brien, and tell me Mr. Garak stories. I'm sure you've got some *good* ones!" He led O'Brien to the couch and was a most attentive audience for the rest of the evening.

"Happy, TZ?" Hobie asked the silent creature beside him.

"Check with me later, pirate." The Cvomi curled back into his chair and resumed his contemplation of the room. Or perhaps he was contemplating the void; one can never really tell what Cvomis are thinking when they're still and silent. He greeted Djerian and they spoke in undertones for a few moments. That was almost the last vigorous activity from him that evening.

Garak found a seat next to Bashir on the couch and they chatted amiably with Polmira sitting beside the Cardassian.

Hobie moved around the room, greeting his new guests, making sure everyone was comfortable. He drifted over to Polmira and gently kicked his eldest son's leg. "Move, Polmi."

"Just saving your place, Dad," Polmira laughed as he scooted over.

"Enjoying your evening, Mr. Garak?" Hobie asked, politely.

"Yes, thank you," Garak said neutrally. "Have you met Dr. Bashir?"

The doctor and the pirate exchanged wary greetings, obviously sizing each other up.

"How do you know those Terran officers, Captain Talljet?" Garak had been wondering all evening.

"I sold them some supplies in that desolate spot in the S system Starfleet command makes them defend."

"And then he saved our asses, Cardassian," Colonel Rubicion said.

"Oh?" Garak was amazed that the Terran had heard him from across the room.

"Yes, indeed," Captain Doxoru said leaning over the back of the couch. "At S system planet 571-38, to be exact."

"I didn't know you were involved, Captain Talljet," Sisko said. He'd heard about the siege, retreat and recapture of S571-38 and how lucky Rubicion and his men were to be alive at all. But nowhere in the official report was Talljet mentioned.

"We walked into a trap," Rubicion explained to Garak. "A bad one. We were able to hold our ground position, we're Marines after all, but we needed a lift out of there. Called my cousin but he was getting his nails done just then so..."

"Like hell, Darcy, I was up to my ass in pirates," Doxoru laughed. "Big, mean, ugly ones. Couldn't get to you. So, I put out a distress call, Hobie turned up and kicked them into next week for us."

"I was just trying to keep good customers," Hobie said. "Not many out here, you know."

"Dox swung by and picked up what was left of my men," Rubicion said quietly. "Hobie covered the retreat. A few days later, wiser and mad as hell, we went back and took it away from the Ossrians."

"Who are the Ossrians?" Bashir asked.

"Pirates." Rubicion accepted more brandy from Jir. "Mean ones, too. S571-38 is a mineral-rich class M planet, just barely inside the frontier. Up for grabs really, the Federation's only got the slimmest claim to it."

"I think the Federation's legal position has been clarified since the mining operation began there," Jir said.

"Who in God's name would mine all the way out there?" O'Brien asked.

"Talljet Inc." Ling told him.

"And who're the miners?" O'Brien asked, wondering what kind of poor devils...

"Renegade Ossrians," Hobie laughed. "You see, there's a drug there, grows on trees, that is highly addicting. It gives the Ossrians, who are tough as nails in the first place, extra energy by super oxygenating their blood. By the end of the day, they've mined a mountain and seen god all dressed up as well." He smiled coolly at Garak. "Ah, let me introduce you to our Kardasi teacher, I hear him coming."

"Polmira mentioned you were trying to learn," Garak said. "It is a difficult language..." He trailed off, hearing a rhythmic tapping coming closer. Garak watched Polmira rise to guide the old man forward.

Garak and Hobie rose together to greet the old, blind Cardassian that now stood before them.

"Mr. Obeck," Hobie began. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Garak."

"I know Mr. Garak," Obeck hissed softly in Kardasi. "He was the last person I saw on Cardassia."

Garak glanced at Polmira, who had understood the simple Kardasi words but looked puzzled by them. "Yes," he said, looking back at Obeck. "Indeed."

In the ensuing silence, a strange tension went through the company that was shattered by ThiaZole dashing his glass to the floor.

"'Nother drink for you, TZ?" Tien yelped, leaping to his feet.

The Cvomi's voice was low with fury. "My coat and an underling to show me out." He rose from his seat like a column of smoke.

Hobie glared at Tien. "Coat, and get him out of here." The tension in his body belied the calm in his voice.

"I believe I will join you, Mr. Zole," Garak said softly in Standard and looked up at Hobie. "A long day; lovely evening." He switched into Klingonese, "Thank you for your courtesy," which could have negative connotations in that language. It was delivered in a perfectly flat voice; his hosts could either take offense if they had not just insulted him or not take offense, knowing that he knew that they knew that he knew they'd deliberately insulted him.

And none of this was lost on the JetCheqs, who insisted on accompanying him, ThiaZole, Dr. Bashir, Sisko, Jake, and O'Brien, who'd also decided to call it a night, back to the airlock. Once there, the JetCheqs stopped Garak to speak to him while the Cvomi and the Terrans, except Bashir, proceeded into the station.

"Excuse me, Dr. Bashir," Polmira said to him in Standard and then switched into Klingonese, a better language for groveling, turned to the Cardassian. "I'm sorry, Mr. Garak," he began but seemed unsure what else to say. "I don't quite know what happened back there but..."

"It is all right, Polmira, I assure you," Garak tartly told him.

"No, it's not." Tien was ashamed his family had made this fine creature uncomfortable. The why on either side was not important, Garak was guest and...

"IT WAS FUCKED!" Farro, very angry, shouted. "How DARE they..."

"It's good Farro is angry for all of us, Cousin," Tien said to Polmira, cutting off his brother's tirade. "It will save us much time and energy. At any rate, Mr. Garak, I am very sorry if you did not enjoy all of your evening. Perhaps there will be an opportunity in the future for another evening that..."

"I do so hope not, Master Khat." Garak met Tien's humiliated gaze until the JetCheq dropped his eyes. He'd seen Polmira flinch in pain, and he had a tiny moment of remorse for that. "One evening has been quite sufficient."

Farro spun on his heel and stomped away. Polmira tried to melt into the wall and did a pretty good job. As the eldest present, Tien bravely continued, as he had no idea what else to do. "I understand, Mr. Garak. Good evening and thank you for joining us tonight." He clearly and sincerely enunciated the formal Klingon phrases, hoping Garak would not be too upset for too long. In traditional commune fashion, he crossed his tattooed hands at the wrists in front of his waist. Slowly, he displayed the runes on the back of his hands and then turned them to display the runes on the palms. A gesture of respect as Klingon communists bear all their artistic, religious and martial accomplishments in runes tattooed on their hands. The action let ranking Klingons know exactly what and whom they were dealing with. In making it for Garak, Tien accorded him the rank of Klingon warrior.

Polmira lifted his right hand, fingers split in traditional Vulcan fashion and respectfully wished him peace and long life.

These honors were not lost on Garak, but he was frankly too shaken to appreciate them. Unsmiling, he nodded curtly and stepped back into the familiar chill of DS9.

"Do you want a drink at Quark's?" Bashir asked, not wanting to pry, but dying to know what was wrong. It had seemed like a nice evening until the blind Cardassian had said something to upset ThiaZole and, apparently, Garak.

"No."

"Do you want some company tonight?"

"Yes. Your quarters." Garak did not want to think about beating Obeck blind. He'd known Obeck had survived the rest of the interrogation but had assumed he'd been executed after they'd determined he was innocent. It was the usual procedure in the Obsidian Order: bury your mistakes deep.

But there he had been tonight. Of all the Cardassians to be teaching the Talljets Kardasi. Unless the Talljets were sending him a message, that they knew more about him than he wanted them to know.

Polmira had said he did not know why Garak was exiled and did not seem to know about Obeck. Garak could almost believe that, but he would never believe that Hobie did not know exactly what he was doing bringing the blind man in like that. "May I take a shower, Julian?" he asked to distract himself.

"Of course."

Under the hot spray, Garak thought up a nice lie for Julian about the evening: That Obeck had called him a whore for attending the tsra. That it was not something a respectable Cardassian male would ever agree to. It was close to the truth; Garak did feel like a whore after Xriet's nearly love letter. But since his exile, Garak did not consider himself a 'respectable' Cardassian male at all.

Obeck and Xriet in one night. 'I'm too old for that,' he thought as Bashir turned down the heat a little and joined him. 'But not too old for this.' He pulled the human into his arms and kissed him passionately. He sensed Bashir would let him lead and gently probed between his lover's buttocks. When Bashir, not to mention Garak, was ready, the Cardassian turned him to the wall, soaped his cock, and carefully entered him. Fucking his beloved in long, swift strokes, Garak felt his tension and unhappiness diminish with every thrust. He reached around to make sure Bashir came when he did, and was rewarded with a satisfying mutual climax. The water was cooler than he preferred so, taking only a moment to recover, Garak pulled out and rinsed them both off. He told Julian to get in bed and cranked the heat back up so he could get warm again.

'Yes,' he thought, toweling off. 'I'll tell Julian that Obeck, a stuffy Cardassian chauvinist, called me a whore tonight and that upset me. He'll believe that explanation.'

But his explanation would have to keep until later as Garak found his lover sound asleep in the bed. He gratefully and protectively curled around him, thankful for the reprieve and the chance to rest. He was exhausted and slept heavily until the door chime woke them both.

"Who the hell..." Julian cursed sleepily.

"I can't imagine," the Cardassian said, but had visions of Guls coming to arrest him for existing at all.

"Let's ignore it. If it were important, I'd be commed." Bashir pulled a pillow over his head.

"Well, we can try." Garak curled around him again.

They failed, or rather Bashir failed when his callers started banging on the door and tapping an SOS signal on the bell. He flung on a robe and stomped across the room to find a tipsy Rubicion and Doxoru on his threshold.

The cousins sauntered in and circled him. "We hear you're a GE, doctor," Doxoru said pleasantly.

"What of it?" Bashir challenged, glad Garak was nearby if things got rough. He was, however, shocked by the response.

"Fine with us, kid. We always like to meet other ones like us." Rubicion chuckled at Bashir's discomfiture. "Nice to see one of us in a *respectable* line of work." He drew a stiletto from his belt and juggled the knife on the fingers of one hand with more dexterity and speed than normal humans were capable of. Having made his point, he bounced the blade to Doxoru, who proceeded to do the same thing, if not faster. The show over, they simply stared at him.

"You see, Doctor, most GEs get caught younger than you," Doxoru explained, tossing Rubicion his knife. "We were children when the Bio Commission found us."

"They put us in military training," Rubicion said. "Because were stronger, faster and smarter, they thought we'd be good on the frontier, where regular humans don't last too long."

"Kept us out of *decent* society, too," Doxoru said. "Keep where we can fight and die for the Federation and all those lofty bullshit Federation ideas of tolerance and equality and justice. Keep us where we're no danger to them, where we won't try to take over, nosireebob."

"And that's why they trained you and equipped you?" Bashir asked, slightly horrified. "Isn't Starfleet afraid you'll turn your ships on them?"

"Nah," Rubicion drawled. "They gave us a taste of the two things we've become addicted to: freedom and power."

"You see, Doctor, as long as we keep the riff-raff out on the other side of the border, they leave us alone. We run our show as we see fit and everybody is happy happy happy," Doxoru chanted and looked happy happy happy. But maybe he was just drunk.

"Why are you telling me this?" Bashir asked.

"Two reasons," Rubicion said, holding up three fingers. "So you know the Federation isn't doing you such a big favor keeping you here. Second, we could use another doctor if you get sick of this place. And three, sorry, meant to say three reasons, and three..."

Captain Doxoru laughed at his cousin. "And three, Dr. Bashir, come with us and I'll marry you to your Cardie and tell Starfleet to go to hell. They might refuse you and your Captain Sisko, but Fleet would never say no to such as simple little request from frontier battalion's doctor, especially if it's a fait accompli. I can promise you that."

"How do you know about this?" Bashir asked, hoping Garak was asleep.

"Wiskott-Aldrich mentioned it on the way here," Doxoru told him. "He gets chatty when he's had a few."

"And Hobie was obviously sizing up the competition tonight," Rubicion said. "You," he leered. "Though... I don't think Hobie's too serious about your Cardie, Doc," he continued. "Dunno quite what he's up to, that beautiful pirate."

"Don't matter, Doctor," Doxoru said. "My ship is here, wake Garak and you can be married in an hour. Less if you don't fuss over your dressing."

"Then you can tell Sisko and Wiskott-Aldrich to go to hell and we'll be on our way to the S system." Rubicion seemed enchanted with this plan. "I know a lovely little biosphere where you and your Cardie can honeymoon."

"In a war zone, gentlemen?" Garak asked from the doorway. He was wearing the burgundy wool dressing gown he kept there for leisurely breakfasts with Julian and emergencies, such as this one.

"I said it was a lovely biosphere, not peaceful," Rubicion clarified.

Garak came to stand next to Bashir.

The doctor met his eye and said, "Well?"

"A very kind offer, Julian, but let us keep it as a contingency," Garak said softly, thinking 'a very distant, last ditch and desperate contingency.'

"Thank you, but no," Bashir said. "Perhaps some other time."

"Well, we tried, Dox," Rubicion drawled.

"Captain Doxoru." Garak had decided Doxoru was the soberer of the pair. "What *do* you think Captain Talljet was doing tonight?"

"Hobie? Lookin' you over, Mr. Garak," Doxoru said simply. "Why? I've no idea. You ain't what I'd call his type. On the other hand, you might be so different, you might just be what he'd settle down with. Dunno, Hobie's mostly a mystery. I will tell you this, sirs, Hobie Talljet gets what he wants and if he truly wants you, Garak, not I, not nobody, can stop him. Understand me?"

"Completely," Garak said.

"Change your mind, Doc?" Rubicion gave it one last shot. "You, me, Dox, your Cardie lover; we could be long gone before breakfast, hey?"

"I'm afraid not," Bashir said firmly. "I've a full schedule tomorrow, so if you don't mind.."

"Yes, well, we'll be going then," Doxoru turned himself and his cousin to the door. He looked back as it slid open. "Let us know if you change your mind, Doctor, use my priority channel. The password is 'superman'." They laughed at Bashir's wince and were gone.

"Julian, if those are the Federation's supermen..." Garak began.

"They are the Federation's hatchet and clean up men, Garak," Bashir said quietly. "Disposable, made to order monsters."

Affected by the sadness in his lover's voice, Garak simply led him back to bed and held him until he fell asleep. Sometime later Garak wound down enough to sleep himself.

The morning came too soon, but at least there were no admirals, GEs or pirates around to torment them anymore. For awhile.

"Trifling, Mr. EO?"

"Yes, Captain Talljet. I believe you are trifling with Mr. Garak."

On this particularly fine morning, they were standing in the strangely deserted Gallery of the Issirian Assembly Academy of Art.

"Did you ask me here just to discuss that?" Hobie asked.

"Yes. I take marriage negotiations as seriously as any other negotiation."

"I apologize, EO, I did not mean to insult you."

"I am not insulted. I am puzzled as to why you've not withdrawn if you are not interested, which your behavior that night seemed to indicate."

"I was distracted."

"You were quite rude."

"That was my son's and nephews' opinion as well."

"Yes, I heard part of the discussion."

"I believe the dead in the delta quadrant heard part of that discussion," Hobie said dryly. He'd frankly preferred Farro's shouting and Tien's venom to Polmira's icy anger and disapproval. Polmira was almost impossible to make angry, so when he was angry, he was very angry. To smooth his son and nephews down, Hobie had promised another meeting with Mr. Garak, a less boisterous one. And since he'd gotten very busy with keeping that bastard pirate Zbricacolvir out of his space (a task made more difficult since Izera 5 had fallen), he'd just not had the energy to arrange it. "Mr. Garak did not seem terribly interested at the tsra," Hobie said, looking at the painting before him.

"How can you be sure, Captain Talljet? Cardassians are reticent by nature, especially with non-Cardassians. This was a difficult situation rendered impossible by the circus it degenerated into. If you wish to frighten and insult Mr. Garak, I would rather be allowed to remove myself from the negotiations."

"Really, Mr. EO, I doubt..."

"Mr. Garak is justifiably quite evasive as to his impression of you since he did not have the opportunity to form one. He did say the food was excellent."

"I'm glad he enjoyed something. Does he want to see me again?"

"I've no idea. Mr. Garak is quite vague on the subject. Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich would certainly like another meeting between you. He has expressed this several times over the past few months."

"Has he? Why?"

"He feels it is his fault that the tsra went wrong because he brought Colonel Rubicion and Captain Doxoru to it."

"Well, it would have been much more boring without them, I'll say that."

"Perhaps, Captain Talljet, perhaps. However, it might have been much more productive and tsra-like if you had been able to speak more with Mr. Garak."

"I do not disagree, EO. Let us assuage the admiral's guilt and show Mr. Garak a better time. Let me think of something especially pleasant that you will approve of."

"You might want to withdraw and leave Mr. Garak in peace, Captain Talljet."

"Oh, heavens no, I want another chance. I think he should know me better before he rejects me, don't you?"

"I see. Then we shall proceed."

"Yes." Hobie looked around the deserted gallery again. "Why do I feel like I'm having a private view, EO?"

"Because you are. The Issirian Assembly Academy of Art is very hard up right now and are willing to sell you anything you like, including the building," EO said, fixing Hobie with his best deal-making stare. "You see, Captain Talljet, there are many things money can cure and this is one of them."

"EO, I have warehouses full of art."

"And more money than god."

"Okay, how much do they need?"

EO waved over the Academy's finance director and the three quickly settled the amount and manner of payment. Hobie agreed to pay off their mortgage, pay for renovations and buy the collection, which he would promptly donate back to them. There were two stipulations: Hobie's name was not to be mentioned, ever, and three of the best Cardassian paintings, of which they had many excellent examples, were to be sent to his ship.

For many, many years, the Issirian Assembly had managed to stay on good terms with the Cardassian Empire and some of Cardassia's best artists had trained at the Academy of Art. The gallery director was happy to discuss this with Hobie, who quickly made his selection, unerringly choosing the best of the best.

Hobie returned to his ship and had a quick consultation with Ling's youngest son, SaRija, who would be delighted to host the second meeting with Mr. Garak. Even EO was pleased with the plan and agreed to present it to Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich, who was acting on Mr. Garak's behalf, at the earliest opportunity. It would then simply be a matter of approaching Mr. Garak in the proper spirit. Hobie then sent his right hand, Neria-Tza, off to DS9 with the Cardassian paintings and invitations to a qwooba hunt on Csirra II for Mr. Garak and his chaperone, Dr. Julian Bashir.

Wiskott-Aldrich and his four guests would round out the Garak side of the party. Once the invitation was accepted and date set, Hobie would see who could come from his side.

'Customs duty. God, what a bore the Federation is.' But Neria-Tza patiently filled out the forms and paid the fees on the three paintings. Silently thanking the unpredictable mind of god that these clerks did not know old Cardassian Masters when they saw them and charged accordingly. He even smiled graciously as he guided the three nul-grav cases ahead of him.

'Wonder if you're worth it, Cardassian,' he thought as he wended his way to Garak's shop. It was closed, yet more torture; at least he had his quarters' address from the Masters Khat.

Neria-Tza was humanoid: half Xochian and half of such variety he never bothered to try and categorize himself. He was born in the city of Gvz on Ashagedra and ironically called himself a Gvzian. He'd been orphaned in one of the many civil uprising he'd had the bad luck to be caught in as a child. Or perhaps his mother had just lost him in the riot and stampede and was never able to find him again. Neria decided she must have died because his new family at the Pholtana Shipyard had never lost track of him. Not then; not now; not ever.

The shipbuilders had taken in the cold, terrified, bruised and hungry child, fed him and given him a place to sleep. When it became obvious Neria had nowhere else to go, most of the city was in ruins and inquiries to what was left of the authorities yielded nothing but bureaucratic shrugging, Pholt, the owner, simply gave him a job and he became a permanent part of the yard.

Long, cool Neria-Tza was one of the four people outside his family that Hobie Talljet trusted completely. This was saying much. He and Hobie were nearly the same age when the MageCheq arrived to apprentice at the shipyard. After sizing each other up, the youths realized they had more to gain working together than against each other. And from then on, they built starships as if they were one person and as they swung over ship hulls in nul gravity, they knew one would always be there to catch the other, if he fell.

Neria was quite handsome; tall and rangy, he had dark green eyes, a swarthy complexion and shaggy brown hair he wore in a short ponytail. Those ironic but sympathetic eyes gazed out over high cheekbones and a bony jaw in his rather narrow face. The Gvzian had a nice wide forehead that made him look intelligent. And he was intelligent, but he was shrewd and logical to the point of ruthlessness as well, and this was lost on most who met him. He looked harmless when he was not. He was loyal to Hobie and the surviving shipbuilders from the Pholtana Shipyard and that was about it. Although he was fond of certain beings here and there whom he felt had merit, the rest of creation took their chances with him. Women, more than men, found him attractive which is probably why Tossar left him alone when he seized the shipyard and Hobie.

This was lucky for Hobie as Neria-Tza was able to use his ruthless intellect to save them all. Calmer than Hobie then, or perhaps the Gvzian was just thinking more clearly because Tossar had not dragged him into his bed. At any rate, after careful observation it occurred to Neria that Tossar was falling in love with Hobie. So it was Neria who told Hobie not only that he could, but how to wrap the pirate king around his little finger. Therefore, Hobie, Neria-Tza and the shipbuilders not only survived, they flourished. Together they built the pirate fleets that extended the Tossarian Autonomous Zone and created its empire. And when Tossar mysteriously died in his sleep and Hobie inherited his leadership, Neria-Tza became his second-in-command.

When there was a fight, Neria-Tza was in the middle of it with Hobie. Just now, it was quiet in their space. They'd fought that bastard pirate Zbricacolvir to a standstill again. If they still had Izera 5, their lives would be easier as the base there was the best staging point for defending their systems and trade routes. As it was now, they had to go around the long way and that used up time and energy.

So, in some ways, Neria was wondering if Hobie hadn't gone over the edge in courting this old Cardassian when he should be completely focused on getting Izera 5 back. Fortunately, Neria had an almost religious faith in Hobie's mysterious ways. It had been his experience that all would be revealed and it would be brilliant. He was curious about Garak, he'd spent some time studying him at the tsra and actually liked what he'd seen.

The Cardassian was calm, polite and watchful. He'd exhibited a great deal of grace under pressure and Neria-Tza found that quite admirable. Grace under pressure saved lives in the XochiCheq's experience, or at least it gave everyone a chance to draw their weapons and find fighting room.

Neria didn't know what went wrong at the tsra, he himself had had a helluva good time with Dox and Darcy. But something said in Kardasi, which he didn't understand, had enraged ThiaZole, who obviously did understand it, and the beautiful Cvomi had lashed out like a mad thing. Well, breaking his glass was lashing out like a mad thing for TZ. Anyway, Garak had kept his cool and called it a night. The fact that the Cardassian had somehow eluded or even checkmated Hobie, which was no mean feat, was not lost on Neria. He knew Hobie had been strangely disappointed in the tsra but not exactly why. Neria had been sniffing around for the why of it when Zbricacolvir's fleet moved on the Usrara system and had to be driven out. Everyone had been too busy to worry about anything else.

Until now and, in truth, when Hobie had asked if Neria would mind going to DS9 for him, he'd jumped at the chance. He was intrigued by the Cardassian now, because of the tsra, but more and originally because, in Neria's experience of Hobie, this was the first and only potential lover that the MageCheq had ever taken this much trouble over.

On the other hand, most of Hobie's lovers fell at his feet in the first five nanoseconds. Garak was the first who'd put up a fight and that was interesting, too. And who the hell was Dr. Busher? Neria knew he'd been in the lounge after dinner but the doctor had made so little impression on him that... ah! here was Mr. Garak's door at last.

Housekeeping was a necessary evil so when Garak decided to do some, he hated being interrupted. His shop was technically closed two days a week, however on one of those days he saw customers by appointment only. This was not that day and, since Bashir was working late and would not be there that night, Garak had decided to clean house in the late afternoon hours. And he hated visitors when he was not expecting them (he knew it wasn't Bashir, who by now rang and then let himself in), so he rather snarled 'come' at the door and turned to face his caller.

"Hello, Mr. Garak. I'm Neria-Tza. We weren't introduced at the tsra but I was there." The stranger addressed him in Klingonese.

This got Garak's attention. "I seem to recall you liked the Cardassian peppers Polmira thought were too hot," he answered in the same language, surveying the buccaneer before him.

"Hey, those peppers were great. I liked that entire meal. We ought to have food like that more often."

"What brings you to DS9, Mr...?"

"Oh, just call me Neria."

"Neria. Why are you here?" Garak thought the high boots and fawn-colored breeches with the white, open-throated blouse were a bit theatrical, but perhaps this is how Neria always dressed. He'd been dressed so at the trsa, the tailor vaguely recalled. The belted jacket was new and Garak approved of the addition.

"Hobie bought you these paintings," Neria said carefully. He was debating how much groveling to do on Hobie's behalf since this Cardie was more aloof than he'd hoped he'd be. "He thought you might like them and he hopes that they might make some amends for the rotten time you had on the _T'Paga_."

"Captain Talljet has sufficiently expressed his regrets. I am not injured."

"You commed back that it was all right, not that you forgave him. Or us, I think if the crew hadn't come to the dinner..."

"Really, Neria, I doubt it was *your* fault."

"No? Well, that's good." Neria pressed the easel function on each painting case. A tripod of spindly legs descended and the crate covers slid up and the sides recessed.

"The tsra was a bad idea in the first place, so it is hardly necessary to give me..." Garak's eyes widened at the famous canvases.

"Do they please you?" Neria asked.

'God, yes!' Garak thought but said, "I cannot accept these."

"Why not?"

"They are too... rare."

"Mr. Garak, when Hobie is sorry about something, he is really sorry. So, if you like them, accept them and we'll all just assume that we're forgiven for being rowdy at the tsra." Unable to read anything in the Cardassian's bland face or chaotic telefield, Neria waited and then ventured, "Unless, you don't forgive us?"

"Nonsense."

"Then where shall we hang them? Your walls are bare; is that in the Cardassian style or what?"

"Or what," Garak said, not wishing to explain he had no money for artwork. Aside from Master Ghet's four small sketches of Bashir in Quark's, there was nothing on the walls of his living room. He looked at the sketches now, thinking how they'd pale into insignificance in a room with three Cardassian old master paintings. 'Am I mad? I can't have these here. They belong in a museum.' He turned back to Hobie's messenger, "Neria, I can't have these here."

"Oh? Would they be better in your bedroom?" Neria walked to the door and looked in. "I think you haven't enough wall space in there. We can move these sketches of Dr. Busher in there, if you like, or between the wall and the replicator," he suggested.

"It's 'Bashir'," Garak corrected.

"What is?" Neria asked, looking around for one.

"Dr. Bashir. Not Busher."

"Oh, yeah, whatever. So, where do you want what?"

"I cannot..."

"Mr. Garak. This is only one level of apology. If you really refuse it, I've no idea what the next level will be. Possibly a Zophrenium mine or perhaps a brace of Orion slave girls. I'd say your best course is just to smile, say thank you and accept these paintings."

"Very well," Garak surrendered. "I hope they're safe here."

"Who but you would know what they're worth?"

"Other Cardassians, Neria, but I never entertain. Let's see." He watched his visitor dig hangers and supports out of the cases. "Let's put this one, here." He waved at a blank wall.

Between the two of them, they made short work of the task. Garak offered his guest - which is what he'd decided Neria was - some tea. They sat companionably on the couch looking at two of the paintings. The third was on the wall behind them, overwhelming the Bashir sketches, which were now crammed together between the door and the replicator. They sat in silence, drinking tea and looking at the art. The act of viewing beauty together forged a comfortable bond between them; they simply sat and enjoyed reality together.

Garak was pleased. Neria could tell and quietly basked in the Cardassian's pleasure. 'Phase One, completed. On to Phase Two.' He waited. Eventually, he knew Garak had begun to think of dinner. If the Cardie was relaxed enough, the telepath could sense simple feelings. Neria let him get a little hungrier before he suggested they have dinner somewhere nice.

Garak told him did not want to impose on his time anymore than he already had.

Neria said it would be his pleasure.

Garak said there were no nice places to eat on DS9.

Neria said he had some fresh food in stasis on his ship.

Garak said Quark's might do for dinner, if Neria was not fussy.

Neria said, fine, he'd just fetch a bottle of good wine from his ship.

"You'll never be happy with what Quark charges for corkage, Neria," Garak said with much gravity. "Better we drink what he'll sell us."

Neria was so agreeable, Garak had the impression that if he'd suggested they drink vole blood, he would not have been scorned. He was in his housecleaning togs and excused himself to change into something less casual. He put on a dark blue and rust suit, everyday wear and very becoming.

"That suits you much better than the gray sack you were wearing at the tsra," Neria observed.

"Does it? How kind of you to say so."

Neria merely smiled but thought the remark devastatingly charming. 'There might be more to this Cardie than I thought,' he mused, escorting Garak and the painting cases out the door.

They made their way to Garak's shop where Neria very deftly handled the cases up onto a storage cabinet. "So, this is your shop," Neria said, looking around at the tidy displays. "Do you like it?"

"Like, what?"

"Tailoring."

"I'm used to it."

"Ah." Neria decided to drop the subject and they convinced Quark to give them a table on the upper level.

"Neria, how well do you know Captain Talljet?" Garak realized this might be a good opportunity to find out what the hell was going on.

"I've known him very well and for many years."

"Are you his lover?" Garak asked sharply.

"No. Would that make you jealous?"

"No. Why aren't you his lover?" Garak lunged.

"What an odd question." Neria dodged.

"Is the answer odd?"

"No, Mr. Garak. Hobie and I are not lovers and never have been. He's not my type, nor am I his. We are good friends, that's all."

"Then why does he think he's my type?"

"Well, that's an interesting question, Mr. Garak, and you'd get a better answer from Hobie himself."

"But he is not here and you are, Neria. Tell me what you think," Garak insisted. "Please."

"'Why does Hobie think you're his type?'" Neria rephrased the question to buy some time. "Well, you're radically different from me, perhaps that's a clue." He smiled at the tailor's frown and continued: "I truly don't know why Hobie wants you, Mr. Garak. One of the reasons I took this messenger job was to get a better look at you and see if I could figure it out."

"And have you?"

"No, but I'm developing some theories."

"And they are?"

"Wellllll..."

"Neria-Tza! Can I come up there?"

Garak and Neria looked over the railing at a tall, thin and beautiful young vulcanoid looking up at them with a bottle under his arm.

"Rezdi, what the hell...?" Neria began.

"REZDI! REZDI! REZDI!" Quark chanted and flung himself into the newcomer's arms.

Garak and Neria looked at each other. "I've no idea," the tailor answered his dinner companion's unspoken question.

Disentangling himself from Quark, Rezdi looked up at Neria. "Well, Mister Tza? May I join you? I even brought some Cardassian beaujolais or whatever it's called. Ajrada wine, I think." He handed the bottle to Quark and said, "A Beaujolais is a Beaujolais is a Beaujolais is a Beaujolais."

"Mr. Garak? Up to you," Neria said, smiling. "I'll refuse if you'd rather not."

"Well, I see no reason why not, Neria. Any friend of Quark's and yours, I'm sure will be, ah, interesting at least," Garak smiled over his kanaar, thinking, no matter who this Rezdi was, the wine would be nice.

"Come up, rascal, if you can behave." Neria got a delighted smile from these words and the young man bounded up the stairs.

Wearing his high heeled akti-skin boots, Rezdi was exactly the same height as Garak. Thin and pale from living his life indoors, Rezdi wore his wavy black hair long over his ears, but only to shoulder length. It was brushed and sprayed into the most perfect pompadour Garak had ever seen in his life. He was also wearing the flashiest magenta brocade suit Garak had seen in a long time; maybe ever. A cobalt blue embroidered waistcoat nearly blinded him. The young man had beautiful black eyes, creamy skin stretched over high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, softened by a full and expressive mouth. It was the kind of face that seemed to lay all its cards on the table, and anyone who thought that was promptly fleeced.

"Rezdi the Gambler," Quark said, handing him a drink. "How long as has it been?"

"Long time, Quark, long time." Rezdi turned his doe eyes on Garak. "Before Mr. Garak's time, even."

"Yeah, the old days. Too bad Gul Roan took offense."

"Not my fault the man can't play Cardassian bridge properly."

"And threatened to kill you because you skinned him," Neria observed. "Rezdi, there are valid reasons why you are not loved and adored by all who know you."

"Oh well and hochofedra, friends," Rezdi shrugged and watched Garak over his drink.

"Why've you stayed away so long, Rez? I could use the business," Quark said.

"Too dangerous before and no high rollers since the fucking Bajorans brought fucking staflet in here..."

"Rezdi, language." Neria scolded.

"Excuse me, Mr. Garak." Rezdi switched to Kardasi.

"Oh, I think I've heard the word Bajoran before." Garak was pleased to hear his own language and not through the translators.

They laughed and Rezdi continued, in Kardasi because of the translators: "Anyway, I picked up a game on the way in. Ran into Johnny Memphis, of all people..."

"Commander Memphis is a customer of mine." Recalling with amusement that Bashir disliked Memphis for his leonine good looks and broad shoulders.

"I'll bear that in mind, Mr. Garak. He's a helluva card player, too."

"What's the game?" Quark asked.

"Dagasian Bazsheb."

"Who else is playing?"

"Dunno. Memphis is scaring up the rest of the sheep, ah, players."

"Need a room?"

"Sorry, Quark, he's handling that as well," Rezdi smiled and asked Neria what was for supper.

"We ordered off the menu."

"I'll have whatever's good, Quark," Rezdi said.

"Your confidence shall be rewarded, o great gambler," Quark snarled good-naturedly and went away.

"Should we ask him to join us?" Neria asked Garak.

"Quark? He won't," Garak said, looking at the thickening bar crowd. "Not during the rush. We were lucky to have him as long as we did. Mr. Rezdi, I salute you."

"Quark's a good soul," Rezdi said with a smile. "As long as you're a good customer, that is."

Garak laughed. "You know your Quark, don't you?"

"I do, I do."

"What brings you here, Rez?" Neria asked.

"I became consumed with jealousy when I learned you were meeting Mr. Garak and I could not stay away another moment." This comment was delivered with appropriately dramatic gestures.

"I hardly think Hobie informs you of my every move, fara (beautiful one)."

"Word gets around, Neria-Tza. Uncle Hobie asked SaRija and SaRija told SaKoszt who told Bot who told Polmira who told Farro who told Uncle Maja who told me and now I'm trying to weasel an invitation to the qwooba hunt since I live to hunt qwoobas and would like to see SaRija and if the whole family's there..." Seeing Neria-Tza close his eyes as if in pain, he trailed off. "Oh, no." Rezdi turned his stricken eyes to Garak and then draped an elegantly arranged hand over them. "Don't tell me you haven't asked him yet. Oh, Neria, what an oaf I am, a cad, a tribble, a targ, a..."

"An actor, a mime with words, a drama all unto yourself." Neria started to laugh. "Rezdi, however you survive at the gaming table is a complete mystery to me."

"Secrets and surprises only last the length of the hand, Neria," he said and turned to Garak. "That's why I'm not a spy or in the family business, Mr. Garak, I'm an open book and I guess I've ruined your surprise."

"I hate surprises, Mr. Rezdi..."

"Just Rezdi, please."

"Rezdi. So, tell me, please?"

Rezdi looked at Neria, who said: "The Talljets would very much like you, Mr. Garak, and if you wish to be accompanied by Dr. Busher..."

"Bashir," Garak corrected.

"...Bashir, to be guests of SaRija and the Rell of Vron on Csirra II for a qwooba hunt on Gnarsa-back."

"I'm very flattered but I couldn't possibly accept," Garak said firmly, even though he adored riding Gnarsas to hunt qwoobas.

"May we know why not?" Neria asked politely.

"Well, for one thing, I have a business to run," Garak said, wondering how the Talljets knew he could ride a Gnarsa.

"And for another?" Rezdi asked.

"An evening on your uncle's yacht, with Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich and company is one thing. Going off to a strange planet to stay with people I've never met is quite another."

"Even with Dr. Bashir as your chaperone?" Neria asked.

"Even *if* Dr. Bashir could obtain leave to accompany me, which I doubt, I'm sure neither of us would feel comfortable."

Neria thought about this for a moment. "I only have invitations for you and Dr. Bashir. However, I do know that Wiskott-Aldrich and company will be there, though probably not with Rubicion and Doxoru this time because of last time." He looked sincerely at Garak. "Would that make a difference?"

"No." Garak leaned back so Quark's waiter could serve him and the conversation was suspended until the wine had been tasted, accepted (by Garak, Rezdi wasn't drinking before his card game and Neria didn't know Cardassian wines) and poured. "I still have a business to run and can't leave it for days on end."

"Well, that's true," Rezdi agreed vaguely.

"More like a couple of weeks," Neria said grimly and shrugged. "Hochofedra, life goes on. So, Rezdi, is the whole tribe invited? I thought it was supposed to be small."

"Well, as usual, everyone is invited but the black sheep: me and Catanya. I think the JetCheqs (half Talljets) pretty much invited themselves when they heard about it. 'Cept Hraja, but that's normal."

"You are not a black sheep, Rezdi." Neria looked serious as a heart attack. "Only Catanya is."

"If Catanya is a black sheep so am I."

"Amazingly Hobiea does not share this idea with you."

"Hobiea has the luxury of being a VulCheq (half Vulcan) and can blame his lack of loyalty on logic, if he ever even thinks about it."

This was said with such bitterness that Garak wondered how strange the Talljet family dynamic really was. Apparently they'd trotted out their best-behaved members for the tsra.

Neria smiled wryly. "Rezdi, I'm sure Mr. Garak could not care less."

"Who's Catanya?" Garak asked.

"My younger brother," Rezdi said. "I'm the middle son. You might have heard of him, he uses the stage name of SuperNova."

"The stripper?" Garak blurted.

"God, if that were all he did,' Neria sighed.

"Well, I think the erotic dancing and sex act days are pretty much over," Rezdi said thoughtfully. "Too much wear and tear and not enough acclaim from the right people. Not worth it for the money, either, he said."

"SuperNova is your brother?" Garak asked, nonplused. "I thought he was a woman."

"Well, Mr. Garak, you know you can buy anything in the Federation, so Catanya bought himself a female transition. A surgical transition, not cosmetic," Rezdi said slowly as if explaining to an idiot. "But, recently, he or rather she, got bored with it and transitioned back to male."

"That sounds painful," Garak said.

"And expensive," Neria added.

"It's his body." Rezdi looked at his chrono and said he'd have to be going to his game. He drew an envelope from his vest and handed it to Garak, whose name was written on it in spiky Kardasi. "He'd like me to bring him a reply on my next pass."

Garak put the envelope in his pocket. "Thank you. I have nothing..." He looked down at the paper and stylo Rezdi held out to him.

"I had a hunch you'd need this," the gambler said softly. "There's an envelope, too."

Garak had been going to say, 'I have nothing more to say to Legate Xriet,' when he was interrupted. Rezdi had risen to leave, so he meekly took the paper and stylo and said thank you.

"Are you all right, Mr. Garak?" Neria asked when Rezdi had gone.

"Yes, fine, thank you." Garak had lost interest in his food but struggled on with the wine. It was not much of a struggle. "Tell me about Rezdi and his brothers."

They drank more wine and Neria told him that Hobeia, Rezdi and Catanya were Jir's children. That Hobeia's father was Stonet and nobody, not even Jir, really knew who Rezdi and Catanya's fathers were. When the children were still young, Stonet had married Jir and come to live in the dance company. He'd been a good father to Hobeia but had never understood or had the patience for Rezdi and Catanya, so he ignored them. What made it worse was that the family lived five years on tour and five years on Vulcan so the poor kids were either living backstage, learning cards and dances, or stuffed into Vulcan schoolboy uniforms and twitching in stifling classrooms. They finally ran away from it all.

"Rezdi and Catanya?" Garak asked, intrigued by this rebellion.

"No, all three." Neria explained that even a half-Vulcan JetCheq (half Talljet) is still a JetCheq and the loyalty among them is incredible. So when Hobeia knew his brothers were going to make a break for it, he went with them.

"How far did they get?"

"Pretty damn far." Neria said they ran from the company at the Port on Brisisian and hitched rides on freighters all the way to Wuoubla 16. They eluded Hobie, Neria-Tza, a bounty hunter named Ashon, assorted friends and well wishers and all the ships in Talljet Inc. (Ling's company fleet) and Talljet Ltd. (Hobie's shipyard fleet) for half a Vulcan year. Hobie was on the verge of calling in Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo when they caught them haggling with a freighter captain on Wuoubla 16. "I hear that captain fainted when he heard he'd had his eye on Hobie Talljet's nephew's ass." Neria laughed.

"Which one?" Garak asked, amused himself.

"Probably all three," Neria said. "They're all stunners. So anyway," he continued: Because the JirCheqs (half Jirs) were so unhappy, the family decided they would let them live in the Gozshedrefreingin commune with the MajaCheqs (half Majas) and this was a better situation. More consistent, few distractions, more interesting and they got a really good education.

None of them wanted to go to university. Hobeia took a job with Hobie's fleet on an explorer vessel; he'd gotten a taste of adventure on those freighters. Rezdi and Catanya still felt like outsiders. So Rezdi hooked up with a gambler named Ob and went off Cardassia way.

"Yes, I wondered why he spoke such lovely Kardasi," Garak commented.

"And Klingonese, and Rom, and Vulcan, and Mindian, and many many others."

And learned all about being a card shark on the frontier.

Much to Jir's horror, Catanya took a job as a dancer with the Zybri Ballet and degenerated into SuperNova.

Family and friends tried to keep track of them over the years but they move in such strange and underground circles, it's like they disappear for years on end. And then they turn up at a family function and want to know why they weren't invited. One needs to be able to be found to be invited.

"So it's rather a shame you can't come to the qwooba hunt, Mr. Garak," Neria said. "Sounds like it'd give Rezdi and Catanya an excuse to be with the family for awhile."

"I take it Captain Talljet sent Rezdi to investigate me on Cardassia." Garak brushed the qwooba hunt aside.

"Rezdi's the family Cardassian expert," Neria agreed. "Cardies like him and he likes them."

'And Tirn likes him enough to let him play postman,' Garak thought coldly. 'After all these years.'

"We could find very little about you there," Neria was saying. "You almost don't exist on Cardassia, Mr. Garak. Did you know that?" Neria asked.

"Yes, I know."

"Do you know why?"

"Yes, I do."

Neria-Tza waited in vain for elaboration. "According the Rezdi, Legate Xriet had the most to say about you."

Garak nodded wearily. He noticed it was late and Quark's crowd was thinning.

"He spoke very highly of you."

Garak looked into Neria's green eyes and saw what looked like approval, interest and the beginnings of affection there. He was so unused to seeing it, he put his walls up a little higher. "And do you find the Legate's opinion erroneous?"

"No, Mr. Garak," Neria said with his soul in his eyes. "No, I do not."

Garak let himself into his quarters and didn't turn on the lights. He leaned against the door and thought about the look in Neria's eyes. It was the same look Polmira, Tien and Farro had in their eyes as they walked him to the airlock after the tsra.

'What in the Gul's name do these beings see in me?' he wondered for the nth time.

In Quark's, Garak had lowered his eyes and said he was tired. Neria called for the bill and discovered Rezdi Krinatia (of the Dancer) had taken care of it. This seemed to please Neria very much. Garak had declined his offer of a nightcap on Neria's ship or to be walked home, he assured Neria that he would find his own way.

And he had. He was in his quarters, alone with his thoughts and no pretty Julian to distract him. Bashir had worked late; on late evenings he was tired and slept in his own quarters. After the most recent ecdysis, as intense as all the others, it was something of a relief to be alone. They had grown even closer during this past shed. Garak kept his secrets but still opened his heart and soul to Julian. And the Terran loved him so much he was willing to let that be enough. In truth, it was more than enough. 'Let the past stay in the past,' Garak thought. 'Please.'

Although he was delighted with his new pictures, Garak was not happy that Hobie Talljet was tormenting him again. Perhaps tormenting was too strong a word. Unsettling him again was more appropriate. It worried Garak that he had a letter from Xriet in his pocket that he did not even want to read. 'Let the past stay in the past. Please.' And that Rezdi spoke beautiful Kardasi and looked like the kind of person who could charm the secrets from the dead. 'Let the past stay in the past. Please.' Could innocent Julian still love him if he knew he'd been Xriet's concubine? Could he love him if he knew he'd blinded Obeck? 'Let the past stay in the past. Please, please, please.'

Aside from killing all the Talljets, Obeck and Xriet, Garak knew there was nothing he could do about them, and perhaps Julian, finding his past. The Talljets already knew about Obeck and Xriet, what else had they found out? Aside from confessing all to Julian and hoping for forgiveness there was no other action he could take. Only waiting, which was horrible.

Or he could go with Hobie and get as far away from Cardassia and DS9 as possible.

Hobie was studying Kardasi with Obeck. He had brought Obeck together with Garak. He must know that Garak had blinded Obeck, why else bring him out? Perhaps it was not an insult, perhaps it was an acknowledgment. An acknowledgment that Hobie knew about his past and could live with it. Having heard the JirCheqs' story, Garak thought the Talljet clan might be weird enough to veil their true meanings in...

No, Obeck was an insult. Face it, the Talljets are not Cardassian, they are not that subtle and never will be. 'And I am very tired and it's time for bed,' he thought. Garak went into his bedroom and found Julian sound asleep in his bed. He smiled and slipped silently into the bathroom to undress and wash the smell of Quark's off him. And hopefully rinse some of his tension away, too. It had been a strange, stressful, occasionally enjoyable evening.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, finding Julian watching him from the bed when he emerged from the bathroom.

"The shower did," Bashir said, sliding into his arms and snuggling.

"I thought you were sleeping at your place tonight."

"D'you want me to leave?"

"Not on your life." Garak pulled him closer. "I'm very glad to see you." He kissed his brow.

"I heard you were dining with two very handsome men in Quark's tonight," Bashir admitted. "I thought I'd better stake my claim to your bed."

"Oh? Don't you trust me, Julian?" Garak teased.

"It's not *you* I don't trust." Julian relaxed hearing Garak laugh at this weak joke. "Actually, I was a little worried, Elim."

"Why?"

"Odo and Kira came to the Infirmary and wanted to know why you were in Quark's with Neria-Tza and Rezdi the Gambler."

"Are they so famous, Julian?"

"Well, Odo and Kira looked nervous. I didn't know until they told me that Neria-Tza is a pirate and Rezdi is a con man, gambler and all around bad hat, I think Kira said." Julian yawned. "I looked in at Quark's and they looked harmless to me. Just handsome."

"You should have come up and joined us."

"I was still on duty." There was a question in Bashir's patient waiting Garak could not fail to hear.

"I only met them tonight. Talljet sent Neria-Tza with some pictures for me. Did you notice them in the other room?"

"No."

"Well, you can see them tomorrow. Rezdi is Talljet's nephew," he cut himself off, remembering the unopened letter in his suit pocket. He had been about to say 'and spends a lot of time on Cardassia' and this was not something Julian needed to know.

"Oh, God, not him again," Julian groaned.

"Not to worry, dear, it's all under control." Garak stroked the warm back under his hand. He heard his lover's sleepy grunt and felt him drop off. A few moments later, he fell asleep himself, hoping that it truly was all under control.

After he said good-night to Garak, Neria-Tza retired to his ship and spent some time thinking. He drank some rum and did some research on the station residents. Particularly Mrs. Azbury, who was a busy matron and one of Garak's better customers. Both Jir and Ling had mentioned her as someone with influence on DS9 and, therefore, with the tailor.

Opening a channel, he relayed his conversation with Rezdi to Hobie, who said the qwooba hunt was going to be a riot, and Garak's reservations. Hobie told him to do what he had to do to get the tailor to Csirra II.

"He might feel more comfortable with more of his friends around him there," Neria said.

"Fine, but not the shapeshifter or the females," Hobie said. "They give me the creeps."

"But they are his friends, Hobie, not yours."

Hobie shuddered. "Fine, do what's necessary. I'll live, but spare me if you can." He sent along invitations for Sisko and son, O'Brien, Dax, Worf, Kira, and Odo.

"So, here's plan A," Neria told him and Hobie thoroughly approved.

Garak opened his shop a few minutes late that morning. Julian had woken him and they made the sweetest love, like they did every morning the doctor woke up feeling amorous. They'd made love again in the shower and then, exceptionally, had rolled under the breakfast table for a bit more.

So, of course, Garak was late. He apologized to the testy Bajoran waiting for him and opened up. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to buy everything."

Having been in retail long enough, Garak didn't let this odd statement throw him. "In what size?"

"All sizes. Here's my credit chip."

The chip was from the Bajoran Charity Hospital. He was about to comment on this when two more Bajorans came in with nul-grav bins.

"Aren't you done here?" one snarled.

"He was a little late but we're getting there," the original Bajoran said and started scooping clothing off the racks. "You do sell to Bajorans, don't you?" he asked seeing Garak hesitate.

"Of course," Garak said and began to process the sales. Halfway through the project, Mrs. Azbury came in and shook hands, both hands, with him.

"We can never thank you or your friend enough, Mr. Garak," she said with tears in her eyes.

"You're too kind, Mrs. Azbury," Garak murmured, prying his hand loose and hoping she'd drop a hint about what the hell was going on. He returned to his totting up.

"We thought it a rather odd donation, but when they said they would use the sales total from your shop as a matching fund, well, it was simply an irresistible offer." She smiled. "I mean, it's wonderful: the hospital's less fortunate patients will get some lovely new clothes and the foundation will get a lovely sum. Not that you're overpriced, Mr. Garak, I don't mean to say."

"Oh, I quite understand, Mrs. Azbury," Garak was beginning to understand more than that but simply said, "It's a good thing I'm not having a clearance sale. That's the lot," he said, tossing the last garment into the bin.

"Yardage," one of the Bajorans growled.

"Yardage?" Garak repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Garak," Mrs. Azbury beamed. "The grant stipulated that we buy all the bolts of fabric in your shop for what you charge per yard."

"I see." Garak went into his workroom and began pulling down bolts of silks, wools, cottons and blends. He tallied up the full bolts first and then measured off the partially used ones. He tossed the last bolt into the bin and added in the total.

"All of it," the Bajoran said, seeing Garak had held back two bolts of silk.

"I’m keeping those, they're too rare to replace," Garak told him. "You can tell your grant giver you got it all; what they don't know won't hurt them." He showed the total, which was large, to Mrs. Azbury and a happy, almost greedy, gleam lit her eye. "I have a question, Mrs. Azbury."

"Yes, Mr. Garak?"

"Who's your grant giver?"

"Princess T'Peja of Vulcan."

"Really?" Garak had not been expecting that. "This Princess contacted you?"

"Her attorneys, Talljet and Storen, did."

"Ah," Garak said, his suspicion confirmed. "Will you do me a small favor?"

"If I can," the good lady said.

"Keep my name out of it, please."

"Oh, I wasn't planning to mention you at all, Mr. Garak."

"I thank you, Mrs. Azbury. Good morning."

Garak put up his 'closed until further notice, please call for appointments' sign and looked around his empty shop. It seemed bigger now that it was empty, unfortunately reminding him of the shell it had been when he'd arrived. In order to think about something else, he vacuumed the corners and baseboards that had been covered with inventory for months, if not years, on end.

After some thought and research, his ready-to-wear vendors all received hefty orders, paid in advance and express shipping. Several mills and textile houses were also contacted. The stock and yardage still would not arrive for weeks and, although he enjoyed being idle, this looming enforced idleness depressed him. Its origins alarmed him as well, so he had some anxiety to go with his depression. He reconciled his sales ledger and expense accounts and that cheered him a little. There was a nice cushion in his bank account, even after he paid his rents and personal expenses. Perhaps a little trip with Julian would be a nice reward and take his mind of his worries. And where could an exiled Cardassian tailor vacation? Qwooba hunting on Csirra II perhaps?

Bad; this was bad that he was even considering it. 'I must resist,' he told himself firmly and went to his workroom to sew.

If he was honest, Mrs. Azbury's Princess had been a godsend for both of them. Business had been slow lately, very slow, which was not unusual at this time of the Bajoran year. He only had two commissions, one that was being picked up that afternoon. And, since he would not be interrupted by sales for a while, the other commission could probably be finished that day as well.

So he sewed until he got hungry and went to lunch. Crossing the Promenade to the replimat, Garak found Neria-Tza's green eyes watching him from Quark's. Rezdi was there as well. This was not a surprise, so Garak merely smiled and nodded and went on his way.

Neria-Tza found a table in Quark's with a good view of Garak's shop. To pacify the Ferengi, he ran a tab on his Federation Monetary Exchange of Vulcan, Talljet Ltd. credit chip, which impressed the hell out of Quark, once he'd verified it was for real. Anybody who could get credit from the Vulcans was somebody worth watching. Or leaving in peace while he took up table space. Either.

The pirate sat quietly reading Ling's latest novel, which was annoyingly un-erotic. He thought about Catanya going back to male and giving up art sex performance and, that, coupled with Hobie obviously seriously considering settling down with Garak, caused him to wonder if it was trend, not a theme. He watched Garak greet a Bajoran male and open his shop. They went inside. A few moments later, two more Bajoran males arrived with nul-grav garment bins.

'Right on time,' Neria thought. 'Bravo, Smig; bravo Bajorans.'

Neria had liked what he'd seen of Garak last night. The tailor had been calm, gracious and charming at dinner. There was merit in that, Neria decided, Hobie's usual lovers were more on the wild side, which is why they didn't last. Or perhaps Hobie chose them for that very reason, so he'd get sick of them quickly. It was Neria's theory that Hobie never settled down so he could concentrate on designing better starships, acquiring and defending his space, empire-building with his brothers and raising his children, when the Gozshedrefreingin Commune wasn't doing it for him, and pretty much in that order. The children were grown and, aside from a few setbacks, life in the Talljet milieu was good, damn good. They were all older; perhaps Hobie saw the peace, quiet and orderly life he'd have with this sensible Cardie, if he'd allow it.

And there was some fire in Garak, Neria thought he'd seen it. Low banked embers that would keep a man warm without scorching him. Considering how much excitement he and Hobie had had in their lives, there was something comforting in this idea, if only in its exoticism.

In his research the previous night, Neria had learned several interesting things about Garak. He was generally loathed on DS9, but was the only tailor there. And a good one, too, apparently his customers had no complaints about his work, only his species. He ran his business scrupulously and his tax returns were works of art. He was audited every year, but the Fed Tax Office never found anything they could act on for a full, on-site audit. It impressed Neria that Garak could play with the FTO and not get smacked. Showed a creative nerve and daring that would have long-term appeal to Hobie. As it should have long-term appeal if they were going to marry.

The idea that Hobie might actually marry this middle aged Cardie was making more sense by the minute to Neria. He might even find a Cardassian tailor of his own and settle down.

If he could. That was another attraction, Neria decided, Cardassians outside of the Cardassian Empire were rare. They might be occupying planets, but they brought their very boring state-centered mind-set with them wherever they went. It made them easy to outwit in business or battle but almost impossible to get into bed. So, this Garak appeared to be one-of-a-kind, and Hobie would appreciate that as well.

The pirate watched a bland but well dressed Terran woman dart into Garak's shop. 'The grateful matron, Mrs. Azbury,' he surmised.

So, the more Neria thought about it, the more he approved of Hobie marrying Garak. The MageCheq would have someone competent to run his household and amuse him at night. If Hobie wanted a quieter life, the unpredictable mind of god certainly knew he'd earned it over the years. Perhaps the world was settling down, calming down and turning inward. It seemed to Neria that even little Rezdi was more tranquil than usual last night. He looked up to see an exhausted looking Rezdi heading for him across the Promenade.

"May I join you, Neria-Tza?" the JirCheq asked.

"Absolutely, fara. I was just thinking about you."

"I'm like the devil; think of me and I shall appear."

Neria smiled sadly at him. He liked Rezdi and his brothers, even admired their guts and bravado, but he didn't really trust them. Strangely, they were the most ruthless of the JetCheqs, something that should have been more in Maja's Klingon commune-reared children, than in Jir's. His children were the failures in Jir's brilliant life. But, if Neria-Tza were honest about it, there was something wrong with all the JetCheqs: they were all eccentric or cold or depressed or megalomaniacs. And if he continued to be honest, the Talljets' first priority had always been each other and then power and then money and then love and then, maybe, their children. So, lucky for the MajaCheqs and the HobieCheqs that they had the commune, and the LingCheqs that they were raised in Vulcan society. Pity the JirCheqs, who had no such anchor, but survived anyway. The JirCheqs were more like the original Talljets and would survive at all costs. So, Neria liked Rezdi very much; trusted him, no, but certainly enjoyed his company.

Fortunately, Rezdi could not care less if he was trusted. In fact, it was a burden to be trusted and he avoided it as much as possible. He simply wanted to live, gamble and have a good time. Just then he wanted some coffee and rolls and Quark was happy to oblige him. "Have a seat, Ferengi."

"Believe I will. How'd it go last night?" Quark asked.

"The game? Fine, nobody shot at me. We just finished."

"You win?"

"Some. Cards couldn't decide if they liked me or Memphis best." Rezdi smiled rather evilly. "They definitely didn't like Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich, who should not drink and dice with strangers. Stupid Terran."

"Who was the fourth, Rez?" Neria asked coolly.

"Terran named Bhomgharrid, Ramon Bhomgharrid. Seemed to be with Wiskott-Aldrich, called him Cyril. So-so player, didn't get drunk at least. Know them, Quark?"

"Wiskott-Aldrich is the new admiral in the sector," Quark said rising. "Never heard of the other one." He went to serve some customers at the bar. The lunch rush was starting and he wouldn't get back to their table again.

"Did you skin Wiskott-Aldrich?"

"Didn't have to, Tza, his luck did it for me."

"Excellent."

Neria-Tza looked grim and Rezdi really was tired, so the gambler sat in silence with him. They watched Mr. Garak stroll across the Promenade. "How's that going?" he asked when Garak was out of sight.

"Gettin' there, Rez, gettin' there."

"I think it's a scam," Rezdi ventured.

"Ya do, huh?" Neria sounded bored.

"Either that or Uncle Hobie's gone mad," Rezdi persisted. "This Cardie is so wrong..."

"That he might be perfect."

Rezdi sat back and thought about *that* for a moment. He looked up and met Neria's cool green eyes and the only thing he could think of to say was, "Hmmmmm!"

They sat in silence until Garak went back to his shop. Neria paid their bill and left Rezdi alone with his thoughts.

Garak's customer was just leaving with her dress when Rezdi slipped in. "Hello, Rezdi. You look exhausted."

"Long night, Mr. Garak," the gambler said in Kardasi, looking around the empty shop. "Don't you usually have clothes in here or something?"

"Yes, usually," Garak said wryly.

Waiting for the tailor to elaborate seemed like a waste of time so Rezdi pressed on to the real reason for the visit. "I'm leaving in an hour or so," he said. "You don't have your letter for Xriet handy, do you?"

"No, I don't. I’m afraid you'll have to leave without it." Garak turned toward the back of the shop. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." Rezdi simply followed him into the workroom and sat down. He watched the tailor pick up a dress and continue hemming the skirt.

Spending part, the happiest part, of his youth in the commune instilled in Rezdi a respect for work and how it was done. He watched Garak hem for a moment and was impressed by the precision in his movements. However, there was no soul in them, no prayerful-ness, no being-ness in Garak's work; it was all work. Or perhaps having an audience was annoying the tailor. In that case, Rezdi thought he'd better make his point and leave. "Xriet is anxious to hear from you again."

"I have nothing further to say to the Legate."

"Why not?"

"It's private."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Garak. I didn't mean to pry." He watched Garak nod. "May I sit here for a moment? This chair is comfortable."

Garak nodded again and went on with his work. Rezdi dozed and they were both startled by the comm chirping.

"May I come in, Mr. Garak?" Neria sounded cheerful.

"Of course," Garak glanced at Rezdi, who put his finger to his lips. "Whenever you like."

"I'll be along in a few minutes, then."

Rezdi rose. "Is there a back way out?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Neria-Tza won't like it that I've seen you alone."

"Why ever not?"

"My family doesn't consider me trustworthy." Rezdi should have been leaving in order to miss Neria, but Garak's attention held him.

"Oh? Why?"

"We have different ideas on what's right," Rezdi said. "We're not always on the same side."

"That must be awkward. Your father and uncles seem like people who'd demand complete loyalty."

"They do."

"And yet they sent you to investigate me on Cardassia," Garak observed.

"I was there; it was convenient," Rezdi said. "I'm not the only one asking questions."

This sent a chill up Garak's spine. "And you know Xriet?"

"We've played Cardassian bridge occasionally. The family knew he was here when you were, they asked me to ask some questions."

Garak might have asked a few more questions himself but Neria-Tza came in and, as predicted, did not look happy to find Rezdi there. The gambler excused himself and left.

"Was he annoying you, Mr. Garak?" Neria asked in Klingonese.

"No, not at all. He seems like a nice young man."

"He's a hundred and four, Mr. Garak."

"Ah. Vulcanoids." Garak waved him to the chair Rezdi had been in and picked up his sewing. "What do you want?" He switched to Klingonese, already missing the soft insinuating cadences of Rezdi's Kardasi.

"Since you've sold everything in your shop and have no business to worry about for a while," Neria said bluntly. "We wonder if you would come to Csirra II for the qwooba hunt. We can leave tonight. Sooner gone, sooner back, as they say."

"No. As I said last night, going to a strange planet with Captain Talljet seems a stupid idea to me. I think it unwise and I refuse," Garak said firmly. "Please thank him for me, but the answer is no."

"I shall leave the invitation open for a while longer, Mr. Garak. Good afternoon." He left.

"You're wasting your time, Neria," Garak called after him and hoped it was true. He began to worry when he was commed and asked to come to Ops. Immediately.

He found Sisko and Wiskott-Aldrich waiting for him in Sisko's office.

"Pack a bag, Garak. You're going qwooba hunting on Csirra II." Wiskott-Aldrich had a headache and was still annoyed he'd lost so much money at cards the previous evening.

"I've declined this invitation twice, Admiral. This will make three times." Garak kept his voice polite.

"You're not declining," the admiral told him.

"Oh, yes, I am," Garak insisted.

"Oh, no. YOU'RE NOT."

"Oh, YES. I..."

"Garak," Sisko cut him off mid-refusal. "Why not?"

"I've a business to run," Garak said.

"Garak, the entire station knows that everything in your shop went to the Bajoran Charity Hospital this morning," Sisko said, calmly. "Next objection."

"I don't trust Talljet."

Sisko tossed an engraved card, inviting Captain and Master Sisko to a qwooba hunt on Csirra II, date to be confirmed ASAP, RSVP, etc. "Neria-Tza was here this morning. Invitations were formally extended to me, Jake, O'Brien, Bashir, Odo, Kira, Dax and Worf. The admiral and his party were already invited. If you're worried about your virtue, Garak, I wouldn't. You'll have an entourage to chaperone you. Next objection."

"I don't want to go." This sounded lame even to Garak.

But Wiskott-Aldrich was as oblivious as ever. "I couldn't care less what you want."

"Yes, I know, Admiral. And, since you're intent on pimping me to Talljet, I think you'd have some consideration for my feelings in the matter."

Turning a dangerous shade of purple, Wiskott-Aldrich asked Garak if he liked living on DS9.

"Not especially, my quarters have always been far too small."

The admiral swallowed whatever he was about to say and softened his gaze. "Oh? Really, Mr. Garak?"

Garak chose a married couple suite on the other side of the habitat ring from Sisko and the O'Briens. It had only a fair view of the wormhole, but it was large and had few neighbors. DS9 would never become a popular posting for families, as the dissolution of the O'Brien family upon Keiko's return to earth with the children would attest. He received the security codes for his new quarters from Sisko himself and went to pack. They were leaving for Csirra II on the Admiral's flagship that evening.

"I wish to apologize to all of you for being dragged off on this obscene errand." Thus Garak greeted Sisko, Jake, O'Brien, Dax, Worf and Bashir at dinner that night. He decided to skip dinner - eating, socializing, all of it - in favor of shutting himself into his cabin with a bottle of kanaar. Odo and Kira were not present; they had declined Hobie's invitation in order to run the station in Sisko's absence. They said they hated qwooba hunting, whatever it was.

The more Garak thought about the events leading up to this humiliating journey, the more angry he was. And the kanaar was not helping as much as he'd hoped. His door buzzed in that annoying way starship doors buzz. "Go away."

"Open up, Garak; it's Dax. Or I'll huff and I'll puff..."

"COME!"

Dax was carrying a tray and set it in front of Garak. "You've got to pull yourself together, Garak."

"Why?"

"Well, several reasons. If you misbehave, Wiskott-Aldrich will make Sisko's life a hell and we'll all suffer. Including Julian.

"If you misbehave, Wiskott-Aldrich will toss you off the station and that will make your life a hell and break Julian's heart. Until he could join you and god knows what that would involve.

"And if you don't eat and keep drinking, you'll make yourself vulnerable to Talljet, something I understand you want to avoid."

"But I'm so well chaperoned."

"If you fuck up, Garak, a platoon of Klingon Marines probably couldn't protect you."

"Yes," Garak sighed, pulling the tray to him and beginning to eat.

"At least we can look forward to fresh food at this thing," Dax said.

"Yes. However, I am sorry you've been dragged away for this ridiculous..."

"Garak, you're the only one who's working. This is a vacation for the rest of us. Of course Miles grumbled but that was just reflex." Dax rose. "Don't misbehave, Garak. Don't wreck our vacation. Don't fuck up." And left.

Julian came in later on. "Did Dax talk to you?" he asked.

"Scolded me," Garak corrected.

"Are you pouting?"

"Of course. But it's nice to see you, Julian."

"Yes, I only wish I could stay."

"Gul, this is going to be worse than I thought."

"Now, now," Bashir soothed. "You have nice new huge quarters to look forward to when you get home again."

"Yes," Garak said, distracted by the idea of DS9 as 'home'. "Yes, when I get home again."

Bashir kissed him goodnight, leaving him to his thoughts and his lonely bed.

Like most type M planets, Csirra II had some lovely spots. Sparsely settled, it spun in its very peaceful and heavily defended orbit in the middle of the Vron system. It was the residence of the Rell of Vron and his consort, SaRijaDeVulCheq (the half Vulcan).

Hobie and Maja had done the current Rell's father a tremendous favor many years ago. Maja had convinced the Klingons that the Vron system had nothing they'd be interested in and to leave it alone. Such was Maja's influence in the empire that he was heeded. Hobie, on the other hand, had fought off a rival system trying to encroach on the Rell's territories. Hobie and Maja's actions were not completely altruistic; neither wanted to lose a peaceful system acting as a buffer between the Tossarian Autonomous Zone and the Issoleanian Autonomous Zone and the Romulan Empire just beyond the Issoleanians. Also, the Vron system had some of the best food and drink in the galaxy, far too good for Klingons, Issoleanian pirates, or really anybody but the Vrons and the Talljets. The Klingons forgot about it and Issoleanians, after several costly skirmishes with the Tossarians, gave it a wide berth. So, the Vron system lived on in peace and well defended harmony.

The former Rell was an honorable being, and to prove his commitment to peaceful coexistence with Hobie and the Tossarian pirates, he proposed a match between his widowed son and heir and a member of the Talljet clan. He was an extremely shrewd being as well. It was well known that the Talljet clan went to great lengths to protect its members. Having a blood relative living in the middle of the system was the best possible insurance the Rell could ever provide his relldom with. He would also have a Talljet for a hostage if need be. So the youngest of the JetCheqs, Ling's VulCheq son, SaRija was married to the future Rell and became step-father to his son.

Along with many fine qualities, SaRija had a degree in finance and aeronautical design from the Vulcan Institute. Neither of these fields really interested him, but the former pleased his parents, and the latter gave him an excuse to run off with Hobie at the first possible moment. He was good at designing small, fast ships that were useless except that they were small and fast. His other duty in the shipyard was to help finance projects, monitor investments, bargain with vendors and other tedious tasks, such as reconciling Hobie's personal finances, which were a mess. It was in the financial area that Hobie would miss him most, but the eldest Talljet could see that SaRija was bored and becoming bitter.

So, on a visit to the old Rell, Hobie introduced SaRija to the future Rell. SaRija was not a great beauty but he, like his parent, was memorable nevertheless. Especially when he was having fun and his eyes glowed with pleasure and he laughed. He had a low, mellow voice and his laugh was like a warm cloak on a cold day. The Rell arranged a hunt, bvrisas not qwoobas, and SaRija, who loved to ride, enjoyed himself very much. It was a lovely visit, Hobie felt totally relaxed and thirty years younger. However, when he asked his nephew what he'd thought of the future Rell, SaRija's response had been 'who?' thus making the visit a failure in that respect.

A second visit was organized and both young people were told to pay closer attention to each other. They did, but no sparks flew.

Because Hobeia was exploring in the far reaches of space, the younger JirCheqs, Rezdi and Catanya, were summoned. Rezdi gambled non-stop the entire visit and Catanya tried to take an interest in the hunting, dining, walks in the twilight, etc. and simply could not; his boredom was palpable.

Of the other LingCheqs, SaKoszt, building cargo ships for Hobie, was too valuable to lose. His younger brother, SaDobra, was building much-needed defenses on the outer borders of the Tossarian Autonomous Zone against the incursions of the Leurotine pirates and could not be spared either.

As far as the HobieCheqs went, Polmira Tossaria was already married to Prince Strig of Vulcan. Bot Tossaria was commanding the fleets fighting the Leurotines on the border. Lyra was, well, was unavailable.

Tien and Farro's lives were committed to the Gozshedrefreingin commune and Hraja was in exile in the Federation.

SaRija was the only reasonable candidate and he was not terribly interested. No one would force him to marry the future Rell and nothing tempted him to do so.

Until Maja sent him designs of a house the Gozshedrefreingin commune's architect had drawn. Knowing SaRija's love of comfort and beauty, Maja had shown the commune architect a vid of a suitable site on the largely uninhabited Csirra II.

With only minimal disruption of the terrain, the house, really mansion, was built into a stand of ancient trees. Connected by terraces, sweeping staircases and bridges, it was like a gigantic tree-house. The impression was further heightened by judicious use of transparent walls and skylights. There was a tremendous sense of openness yet privacy in the house. The design drew on the beauty of the trees and contour of the forest floor.

It was bait and both SaRija and the future Rell were nibbling. They were caught when the Talljets, who all had warehouses of fine art, offered to furnish it from their treasures. SaRija's bribe became one of the richest dowries in the history of the system. Stables, a lake and a comfortable village to house their servants, administrative and support staff were added to the surrounding terrain design and that tipped the balance. SaRija was married to the future Rell just as the house and grounds on Csirra II were completed.

It was in this house that Garak and his entourage were welcomed by SaRija.

"What language, Mr. Garak, what language?" SaRija greeted him in Romulan. "I am SaRija. You are welcome here."

"I thank you. No translators, SaRija?" Garak asked, feeling pleasure in speaking Romulan again after so many years.

"No, my guests are civilized people and speak civilized languages," SaRija continued in a maddeningly superior Vulcan manner.

Garak suppressed his amusement; certain his companions would hardly consider Romulan a 'civilized' language. "Do you speak Standard?" he asked in that language.

"Of course," SaRija answered. "Although I find it more serviceable than civilized."

Garak laughed. "Translators have made me lazy. I could use the practice, if you don't mind."

"All shall be as you wish, Mr. Garak," SaRija said, leading him upstairs to his room. On the way they passed rooms marked for Captain Sisko, Master Sisko, Klingon Worf (annoyingly, to her, this included Jadzia), Lieutenant O'Brien, Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich, Mr. Bhomgharrid, Commander Memphis, Professor Sivarg, and Dr. Seniz. A trail of maids and luggage-bearing footmen followed to help the guests unpack. SaRija had relaxed his no-translators rule for his guests and each servant had one clipped to his or her jacket lapel.

Except for a maid and footman with their luggage, Garak and Bashir found themselves alone with SaRija. Their host led them down a leafy corridor and up a level to a mezzanine and into a pair of adjoining rooms overlooking rolling green hills.

"We thought you'd like to try out the Gnarsas we brought for the hunt this afternoon, after you've rested," SaRija said. "We'd like to hunt tomorrow morning, if that's agreeable to you, Mr. Garak."

"It will depend on how agreeable my Gnarsa is," Garak said.

"Very true," SaRija agreed. "We've borrowed a good stable. Intelligent, gentle animals, but with spirit. Do you ride, Dr. Bashir?"

"When I can, SaRija," he said.

"Ah. Shall we say in two hours, Mr. Garak?" SaRija asked.

"That should be fine."

"You'll find riding clothes in the closet. Ring if you need anything." He left them in the dappled sunlight of their rooms.

"This is astonishing, Elim."

"Hm."

"Are you tired?"

"A little."

"I missed you last night."

"We do not have time to make love, Julian."

"All you think about is sex."

"Hm. I'm taking a nap. I'll need one if I'm going Gnarsa riding in two hours. I suggest you take one, too."

Two hours later, dressing in riding gear, Garak and Bashir made their way to the stable yard. They found Sisko, Jake and O'Brien, Wiskott-Aldrich and several others he did not know there and, of course, Captain Talljet.

Wearing black jodhpurs, a sweater and boots, Hobie was even sexier than usual. He slid off the animal he was riding and tossed the reins to a nearby groom. He greeted Garak cordially and beckoned another groom to bring the Gnarsa he was leading over to them.

Gnarsas are powerful quadrupeds originally on bred on Romulus for hunting. They have long, bony heads set on short necks covered with thick manes. A barrel shaped torso makes them impossible to ride without a saddle. Powerful withers and hindquarters propel their spindly and extremely agile legs over even the most difficult terrain. Their hoofs splayed out for stability and a heavy tail gave them extra balance in turns.

The Gnarsa had evolved in the lush but treacherous ecosystem of primeval Romulus. Their survival was based on speed, agility; their ability to outrun predators over difficult landscapes. Being prolific breeders also ensured their survival. Fairly docile, the Gnarsa were one of the first animals domesticated on Romulus as beasts of burden and later for riding. This had never changed. An extremely ugly animal, no one had any illusions about that, the one that was led up to Garak was dark brown and unremarkable.

But Garak was not looking at the Gnarsa, he was looking at the groom. Staring at the groom, in fact.

As memory conjured sensation, Garak took a deep breath as pure lust rushed through his system. He heard Hobie chuckle beside him and blushed. For the sake of form, he turned and glared at the pirate, who laughed in his face.

"I believe you know, Mr. Tymat, Mr. Garak, do you not?" Hobie said with a leer.

Garak ignored this and looked into the groom's black eyes. "Hullo, Tym," he whispered in Romulan.

"Elim." Tym reached a tentative hand and, meeting no resistance, stroked Garak's cheek.

"Ah, hm." Hobie seemed at a loss and, since he was being totally ignored, decided to retreat. "Well, I'll, ah, leave you to it." He returned to his own Gnarsa and watched the reunion from a safe distance. Expecting Garak to be embarrassed by Tymat, Hobie was at a loss to understand the tenderness of their meeting. He noticed Bashir watching and wondered if the doctor had any more insight into it than he did. He very seriously doubted Garak would have told his young lover about his youthful romps in Romulan hay lofts with Tymat. It was something Hobie had been sure Garak would have been embarrassed about but, interestingly, that did not seem to be so.

Garak and Tymat continued their conversation, too far away and too low for anyone to hear what they said. They were silent for a moment, Garak looked up and Tymat gently kissed him on the mouth. The tailor smiled, took the riding crop off Gnarsa's saddle and lightly tapped the animal's nearest knee with it.

As it was trained to do, the Gnarsa knelt and Garak got into the saddle. He tapped his mount's neck with the crop and the Gnarsa rose.

Stunned and impressed, Hobie and Bashir watched Garak adjust his seat and reins. Tymat tightened the cinch belt on the saddle and said a few more words to Garak, seemingly about the Gnarsa, all the while keeping a big hand on the Cardassian's thigh. Garak smiled down at him and patted his hand. The groom stepped away as Garak guided his Gnarsa into a riding ring.

Garak was a good rider, not a great one, but a good one. Tymat had taught him to ride on Romulus and the groom had been a very thorough teacher. He cantered his Gnarsa around the ring a few times so they could get to know each other. There were jumps of various sizes in the ring and they had a go at all of them. The Gnarsa only shied at one but went right over it on the second try.

Tymat opened the ring gate and pointed to a larger course a small ways off. Garak waved at him and rode off.

A Gnarsa was brought for Bashir and he swung into the saddle. The doctor rode fairly well and might have ridden better if he'd not been distracted by Garak and his Gnarsa leaping over logs, water, fences and splashing through the mud.

It was thoroughly obvious that Garak and his mount were having a wonderful time together. Eventually, Garak brought the Gnarsa back to Tymat and they walked it around the yard, to cool it off and so they could talk a little more. In spite of Garak's muddy clothes, they embraced briefly and Garak went back to the house.

A thoughtful guest, Garak took off his boots before he went in. One of the maids followed him to his room and insisted he give her the muddy riding habit so she could have it laundered. He handed it to her from the bathroom and ran the hottest shower he could. Not having ridden for many years; Garak could already hear his muscles complaining. He found he was enjoying himself and looking forward to the next day's hunt. He was in such a good mood, he was not overly annoyed to find Hobie holding a robe open for him as he stepped from the shower. "This is being a rather excessively attentive host, isn't it, Captain Talljet?" Garak slid into the robe and began to towel his hair dry.

"Mr. Garak, you have nerves of steel," Hobie observed coolly. "Durasteel, perhaps."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I bring your Romulan groom lover and you hardly bat an eye."

"Well, I am impressed, Captain Talljet. How did you manage it?" Garak strolled casually into his bedroom.

"Oh, surprisingly, we found traces of you on Romulus. Tymat had very nice things to say about you. When we needed a brace of Gnarsa for this hunt, we rented his. He came along with his grooms to look after his stock."

"Yes, he told me he'd brought his own yard and animals," Garak said, pleasantly. "I'm so glad he's prospered."

A little frustrated that Garak refused to be angry or flustered or anything but pleased by Tymat's presence on Csirra II, Hobie moved closer. "Tymat seemed very glad to see you," he said softly, leaning in and looking right into Garak's calm blue eyes.

"And I him." Garak gazed back blandly, refusing to react to Hobie's provocation. He was almost sure Talljet was about to kiss him, or try to, when his would-be lover abruptly stepped back. Hobie put his finger to his own lips for silence and slipped into the wardrobe facing the bed seconds before Bashir came bounding into the room.

The doctor was flushed and happy and flung himself on Garak, who cast a nervous glance at the inhabited wardrobe.

"Who was that you were kissing, Elim?" Bashir teased, dragging him over to the bed.

"An old friend," Garak said. "Julian don't you think..."

Bashir pushed him down on the bed and stretched out on top of him, nudging his lover's legs apart. "He doesn't seem like your type," he observed, nibbling on Garak's neckridges.

"How would you know, my dear?" Even through the thick fabric of his jodhpurs, Garak could feel Bashir's erection. 'Riding, abstinence and youth will do that,' he thought wryly, dearly wishing they did not have an audience looking on from the wardrobe.

Bashir lifted his head to look at him. "Because *I'm* your type," he said firmly and possessively.

"Of course you are, Julian," Garak emphatically agreed. "How about a shower?"

"Not until you tell me who that was out there."

Garak looked into very determined brown eyes. "Oh, someone from my youth," he sighed.

"Tell me."

"Yes, dear. In my youth, I had a job as a gardener on Romulus."

"Mmm hmmm," Bashir agreed, nuzzling Garak's neck.

"And the estate next door had stables," Garak continued. "I saw Tymat..."

"That's his name?"

"Yes. Tymat and the other grooms now and then; we were neighbors after all. One day, I was working near the stables and it began to rain and then hail (Romulus' capital has terrible weather), and I dashed into the stable for shelter until the storm was over. Tymat was there alone and I was young and curious so one thing led to another."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm, indeed, Julian," Garak said, stroking his lover's back. "He was my first lover."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I thought I was your first lover."

"You're my first and only human lover."

"Oh. How long were you and he lovers?"

"About two years."

"Why did it end?"

"I went back to Cardassia." Garak heard Julian sigh against his neck and felt his cock deflate. The younger man groaned and murmured 'sorry'. Garak suggested he take a shower and relax. They would skip tea and stay in bed until dinner. Julian kissed him, climbed off and went to his own room to shower.

Garak closed the adjoining door and flung open the wardrobe. "Get out!" he hissed at Hobie, who was writhing with suppressed laughter.

"Yes, dear." Hobie leaned in to steal a kiss from the angry Cardassian.

"Out!" Garak was starting to sound dangerous.

But Hobie merely laughed softly. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Mr. Garak," he whispered as Garak shoved him into the corridor and locked the door behind him.

Dinner was a pleasant affair in SaRija's home. Since not everyone had arrived, the VulCheq forewent a formal dinner. It was a relaxed meal and Garak found the food and company much to his liking.

He was seated between Bashir and Hobie. Conversation was at a minimum because they were all tired from riding. Wiskott-Aldrich was chatting with SaRija. Ling, who'd come with Hobie on the _Dancer_, was seated beside him and was talking to Worf and Jadzia. Sisko, Jake, and O'Brien were talking to the members of Wiskott-Aldrich's party.

Commander Memphis smiled charmingly across the table at his tailor and asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "Who's your Rom friend, Garak?"

Bashir and Hobie bristled slightly but didn't intervene.

"Oh, someone I knew in my wilder youth, Commander." Garak drank a little more wine and felt his lover and would-be lover relax. He leaned back from the table. "I think I'd like to take a walk," he said quietly to Bashir, but loud enough for Hobie to hear it. "I'd like you and Captain Talljet to come with me." He looked at Hobie, who nodded and the three rose from the table.

"Save us some coffee, Rija-olio (Rija-darlin')," Hobie said on his way out. "I think this won't take long."

"Where are we going?" Bashir asked when they were outside.

"The stables."

"Oh, yeah? Then why am I here?" Hobie asked.

"To translate for Dr. Bashir."

"Translate what?"

"What Tymat and I say to each other, of course."

"You're awfully confident my Rom is up to it," Hobie growled, not sure he liked being relegated to translator for Garak's lover.

Garak spun and brought Hobie up short. "Would you rather I ask SaRija? He speaks Rom beautifully."

"No, no, Mr. Garak," Hobie said, somewhat abashed. "I wouldn't miss this for anything."

"Then stop whining." Garak turned and led them to the stables.

"Does he talk to you like that?" Hobie whispered to Bashir.

"No," the doctor whispered back. "But I never whine."

They went into the stables and Garak asked one of the grooms for Tymat.

"I was hoping you'd come, Elim," Tymat said, a few moments later. "Alone, that is," he added, glancing at Bashir and Talljet.

Garak waited for Hobie to finish translating. "I wanted my lover to hear what I have to say to you."

"Must be the Terran if you brought a translator," the Rom observed.

Garak laughed. "Astute as ever, Tym." He fell silent.

In the silence, Tymat stepped forward and took him in his arms. "I was hoping I'd see you again in this life, Elim."

"So much time has gone by. So much has changed." Garak wrapped his arms around him.

"The present is inescapable," Tymat whispered. "And the past is either a hell or sanctuary, Elim. Let ours be a sanctuary for you. It has been for me."

"Yes." Garak relaxed in his embrace. "I'm glad you've prospered."

"Stagnate or die, my dear. I started with three of my own Gnarsas and training five others. Now I have twenty and train and stable for the local nobles."

"I'm pleased," Garak said sincerely. "How did the Talljets find you?"

"Ask them, I've no idea," Tymat said, loosening his hold on Garak. "I jumped at the chance to see you again. I even lowered my price a little."

"I'm flattered." Garak stepped back. "Be well, Tymat."

"Give me a kiss for luck," he said and kissed him. They did not linger. "Be happy, Elim."

"I do hope so," Garak said quietly. "Tomorrow, then. Good night."

They walked back, Garak and Bashir had their arms around each other.

"What was it Bashir was supposed to hear in there?" Hobie asked pointedly in Standard.

"That I had nothing to say to my former lover that I didn't want him to hear," Garak answered. 'Or you, for that matter,' he thought.

"Hm. Well, I'm glad you're having a good time, Mr. Garak." Hobie knew this sounded lame but couldn't help it.

"And I thank you for it, Captain Talljet, really I do." Garak squeezed Bashir's waist affectionately.

"Yes, me, too." Bashir smiled at his lover in the darkness.

"Excellent," Hobie said vaguely.

Garak and Bashir unlaced their arms as they came into the lights of the house.

They found the family and guests in the drawing room, drinking coffee. Polmira had arrived, bringing the crazy Cardassian chef. He'd also brought Rezdi with him. Jir, Stonet, Stez, Ling's spouse, and Prince Strig, Polmira's spouse, had come from Vulcan in a Talljet Inc. ship. They were discussing whether or not they'd ride the next day.

"We have plenty of animals," SaRija was saying.

"Yes, but I'm not inclined to get on a strange animal first thing in the morning," Jir said. "Not good for me, to say nothing of the Gnarsa." He looked up at the trio's entrance. "Hullo, Garak, Bashir, Nolo" he said. "Where've you been?"

"Looking at the moon, Noli," Hobie rapped out. "Thought you'd be here later."

"The new company ships are faster than I thought."

"SaRija's getting more and more out of the engines with each generation," Hobie said simply.

"Really?" Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich, Professor Sivarg and Dr. Seniz asked him how.

The conversation became general. Memphis suggested they play Cardassian bridge if he and Rezdi could scare up players. Garak, who'd not played Cardassian bridge in a while, said he'd make a third and Dax made the fourth. They cut for partners and Rezdi drew Garak.

"Ah," the gambler sighed. "Starfleet against the others, as usual."

"Don't be an ass, Rezdi," Jir scolded.

"But it's my mission in life, ParentFara," he said, leading them to a bridge table. They played for micro-credits and Garak borrowed from Bashir to pay his modest losses.

Early the next morning Garak hunted qwoobas on Gnarsa-back and enjoyed it very much.

The riders followed the pack of Rom hounds, also borrowed from their homeworld, over the Csirra II terrain. No qwoobas were caught; they'd been released the night before and the hounds were following their scent. By morning, any qwooba with an ounce of sense was far away. Eventually, the local predators would catch them, so there was no danger of a qwooba infestation on Csirra II.

It was pleasant ride, even without the bloodshed. SaRija had twenty qwoobas brought to Csirra II so they would have a good number of hunts. The leftovers could always go home to Romulus.

By lunch time, the hunters were famished and glad to get back inside where the food was. Garak grabbed a sandwich and went up to his room to bathe and change. The ride had been wonderfully muddy and he was soaked. On the way up, he noticed two people dressed all in black curled in a hammock, but couldn't see who they were.

He rather suspected they were Rezdi and SaRija, who'd slipped away as lovers will at the end of the evening. Jir and Hobie had frowned and commented that it was a good thing the Rell had decided not to be home for this party. Polmira and Ling had shrugged and said 'hochofedra; they're adults'. Their Vulcan spouses stayed out of the discussion and Garak excused himself to go to bed, where his own lover was waiting.

But that was last night and this morning Garak had had a good ride, a good breakfast and as he came downstairs in a very chic blue suit, he found Tien drinking tea and laughing at Rezdi. Memphis, Wiskott-Aldrich and Mr. Bhomgharrid were there as well. He heard the word 'croquet' several times but didn't know what it meant.

"Hullo, Mr. Garak," Tien called. "Sorry we're late, the Spock couldn't get to the rendezvous on time."

"The Spock?" Garak asked.

"Uh huh." Tien jerked his chin at the hammock on the patio. "And now all he wants to do is sleep."

"I say he can sleep when he's dead," Rezdi observed.

"They're ignoring you, Tien," Polmira said as he came in. "Tea, Mr. Garak?"

"Yes, thanks." Garak accepted a cup. "Who's in the hammock with the Spock?"

"Why, the Maja, of course," Polmira answered.

Several people came in, one of them, Farro, said he was very glad to see Mr. Garak again, and hoped Mr. Garak was having a good time.

"I am, Farro, thank you."

"Well, I should hope so," Farro snarled. "Much effort has gone into this party and now we're all worried that Rezdi and SaRija will wreck it."

"Like, how, Cousin?" Rezdi asked with a sigh.

"By not being able to get out of bed."

"Oh, god, Farro, if you..." Rezdi started.

"Please, children, let's keep the peace, shall we?" Ling told them sharply and they backed off. "Where is SaRija anyway?"

"Trying to reason with the Cardassian cook," Polmira said.

"...?"

"Oh, you'll find out, Uncle," Polmira said, ominously.

Garak smiled and said hello to Bashir and O'Brien who'd just come in from outside.

"Is that really a croquet course out there?" Bashir asked SaRija, crossing the room with a plate of peppers.

"Yes." The VulCheq went straight up the Garak and asked him if he liked these peppers.

"Yes, very much." Garak took one and ate it, as if to prove he did. "Even better than last time," he said.

"Well! We might all starve but Mr. Garak and Rezdi," SaRija sighed, feeding a pepper to his cousin.

"About croquet, Rija," Farro said suddenly. "May we play? *If* you can be bothered."

"Of course, Cousins, why d'you think I have it set up?" Rija said hello to Sisko and son. "Do you play croquet, Captain Sisko? Jake?"

Sisko said yes and Jake asked him what it was. "A savage game played by civilized people on Terra," Sisko said seriously.

"Excellent!" Tien cried. "Terrans, are you in?" He got nods from them. "There's too many of us so we'll have to draw straws to see who plays."

"So much better than fighting with spears to determine it," Jir commented. "Like you did last time."

"Well, if we were on our own, Uncle..." Polmira said sweetly. "But not in front of company."

"And Djerian ain't here to fix you up either," Hobie said. "I hate croquet, count me out."

"Really, why?" O'Brien, who liked croquet, asked.

"It's a frustrating game played with heavy blunt objects with the same heft and balance as a battle ax," Hobie said, turning to Worf. "Do Klingons on Terra play croquet?"

"Yes, but only if they are heavily supervised and for the same reasons you've outlined, Captain Talljet," Worf told him.

"Then you must play if you can," Ling said. "The mere thought of a bloodlust Klingon with a croquet mallet is enough to keep even the JetCheqs in line."

"Oh, really, Uncle," Tien admonished. "Hush! What will Mr. Garak think?"

"I think I'll watch you play this game, if no one minds," Garak said urbanely.

"I know! We'll give you a phaser set on stun and you can shoot anyone who misbehaves," Polmira said.

"Or plays badly," Tien said.

"Or if I'm not winning, shoot those who are," Farro added.

SaRija picked up a deck of cards. "Can't we choose players by high cards? I've not got any straws handy."

"That's fine, Rija," Tien said. "Polmi, go wake Spock and Master Ghet. They'll be hell to pay if we don't include them." He looked seriously at Garak. "They adore croquet."

"What about Professor Sivarg, and Dr. Seniz?" SaRija, the considerate host, asked Wiskott-Aldrich.

Memphis clicked open his communicator and spoke into it and then listened. "They'll be right down," he said. "They adore croquet as well."

"Really? I'd think the Vulcans would not enjoy it," Bhomgharrid said.

"Depends on the Vulcan," Hobie answered, watching Spock and Maja roll from the hammock. "I'm told they don't like hammocks or midday naps either."

"Depends on the hammock, nolo," Jir said pleasantly.

"And who's in it, I reckon," Ling added with a smile.

Spock greeted everyone and was especially introduced to Garak by Tien.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ambassador," Garak said politely.

"Yes, Mr. Garak. Do you have any idea why Hobie wishes to marry you?" Spock asked in his usual blunt fashion as he examined Garak.

"I do apologize, Mr. Garak," Maja said sharply, pushing Spock away. "But if you must be insulted here at least it's a Vulcan and what else can you expect?"

"Are Vulcans insulting beings already?" Stez asked as he came in with Prince Strig.

"Have we missed anything?" Strig asked, brushing his paired fingers against Polmira's lips.

"We're just drawing high cards to see who's playing croquet," Polmira told him.

"Ah, croquet," Strig sighed as close to pleasure as Vulcans get. "A game of precision and strategy."

"And passion, if you're lucky enough not to be a Vulcan," Hobie murmured to Garak.

Sisko suggested they play doubles and then everyone could play.

"What a brilliant idea!" Tien said enthusiastically. "Too bad you weren't here last time we played, why..."

"Please, Tien-olio, we'd just rather forget, okay?" Maja said firmly. "An excellent idea, Captain."

"Super," SaRija said, heading for the door. "All what's coming, c'mon. The equipment is in a shed in the yard."

"Are you coming, Garak?" Bashir whispered.

"No, Doctor, I'll just look on from the terrace," Garak said and wished him victory.

Bashir was momentarily torn between being with his lover and croquet, which he never really got enough of as a child. Croquet won out.

Garak found his way to the terrace overlooking the field and watched the croquet warriors facing off. A maid brought him some tea and shortly after that, Hobie joined him.

"Alone at last, Mr. Garak," the pirate leered.

"Did you arrange this?" Garak asked, waving at the lawn.

"Me? No. I really do hate croquet and never play."

"Never?"

"Well, I did when my children were small and in emergencies when they need another player to have a game," Hobie amended. "But only in the direst straits."

"I see," Garak laughed. "It looks like a pleasant game."

"You should have played then."

"I’m rather tired from this morning's hunt," Garak admitted. "I'm not young, Captain Talljet, nor do I get much exercise on the station."

"I'd think Bashir would keep you in shape."

Garak laughed but didn't answer. They watched the game in silence for a while. "Why do you want to marry me?" he asked suddenly.

"You have certain admirable qualities, Mr. Garak."

"Admirable to you? Such as?"

"You're intelligent, shrewd, you're lucky in an unlucky way, you've flourished in exile when you were supposed to wither and die there."

"That's a strange list, Captain Talljet," Garak said quietly.

"Shall I tell you you're beautiful, soulful and I've waited all my life to find you," Hobie sighed theatrically. "That you'll complete me, mend the rends in my soul and we'll live happily ever after? Really, Mr. Garak. I thought you were a realist."

"I am," Garak laughed. "That why I don't believe a word you've said since I met you. Since I got your first love letter."

Hobie looked seriously at him. "I think I could make you happy," he said soberly.

"I am happy, thank you."

"No, I mean really happy," Hobie insisted. "I have lots and lots of money and some power. I'm told I'm not terribly repulsive and I think, eventually, you'd love me enough to be happy with me. And, for a start, I can give you two things you want to prove how much I want you."

"And they are?"

"Cardassia and revenge." Hobie watched Garak drop his eyes and a cunning look cross the Cardassian's face and vanish. "Try to confine your revenge list to ten names. I'm not running an assassination bureau." He left the terrace before Garak could tell him to go to hell.

Garak stood looking at the croquet game without really seeing it. Dax waved at him; he waved back.

Cardassia and revenge. He was trying not to think about the two things he wanted most in life.

Although Hobie had not specified what he wanted in return for those two gifts, Garak was almost certain the price was too high. 'Of course,' he mused. 'Since we haven't made a deal, I needn't worry about my end of the bargain until he delivers. And he'll never restore me to Cardassia. It would require a miracle and I don't believe in miracles.' Polmira waved at him; he waved back.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Garak?" a deep voice asked in polite and grammatical Klingonese.

Garak turned to the speaker and found three vulcanoids standing behind him. He had not heard their approach. "I am," he answered in the same language, thinking he'd spoken more Klingonese in the past few months than he had in as many years.

"Oh, good," the largest one said, coming forward. "I'm Bot Tossaria, Polmira's noli. This is SaKoszt, Rija's nolo and this is Catanya, Rezdi's noli." They bowed politely. "We've just arrived and..."

"And the targs are playing croquet without us!" SaKoszt broke in, dashing up the terrace railing, his cousins behind him. He was tall and lean and wore his straight black hair short.

"I know I'm the black sheep, Cousins, but what an insult to you two," Catanya said dramatically, flinging his arm over his eyes and arching his back. Willowy, lovely and graceful, Catanya looked like a wearier version of Rezdi with long ringlets over his shoulders and down his back.

Bot said, "Hmmm," and looked grim. "And they knew we were on the way," he said darkly. The largest of the three, he was triangle shaped from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and long sturdy legs. He was burly and powerful looking. The lissome grace of the Talljet blood had been overwhelmed by Tossar's muscular genes.

Garak found it difficult to believe this was the elegant Polmira's brother or blood relation at all.

"Of course," SaKoszt said, watching the game. "When did you tell them we were arriving?"

"I thought you told them we'd be here yesterday, Koszt." Bot twisted around to watch his cousin shake his head.

"I thought you did, Bot. Catanya?" Koszt turned to his other cousin.

"I haven't talked to anyone since we left Rbraian 8." Catanya turned a gigantic showgirl, well, former showgirl, smile on Garak. "Besides, I've only just sobered up a few hours ago anyway."

"So, SaRija does not expect you nor know you're here?" Garak asked his bizarre companions.

"I guess not," Bot agreed and got nods from his cousins. "Oh look," he shaded his eyes. "Faro is arguing with Strig and Spock's trying to break it up."

"How amusing!" Catanya said.

"Since they didn't know to expect you, that might be why they started the game without you," Garak suggested reasonably.

"Shhh," Catanya said and added, "please. "Koszt, can you hear what it's about?"

"Something about 'the ball was in motion'," the VulCheq said. "That's all I could hear."

They watched in silence for a while. There was a consultation between Spock, Strig, Farro, Sisko, Jir, and Dax on the lawn.

"Oh, they seem to be replaying it," Koszt said.

This seemed to make the JetCheqs very happy and they turned their attention back to Garak.

"We'll play later, Mr. Garak," Bot said. "Are you enjoying your visit here?"

"Yes, very much, thank you."

"Did you ride yet?" Catanya asked.

"This morning."

"I do so hope I get to ride a bit here," Catanya enthused. "I haven't qwooba hunted in years and I simply live to qwooba hunt."

"That is if Rija doesn't shoot you on sight," Koszt observed darkly.

"Why would...?" Garak began.

"Oh, just a little indiscretion with the Rell while I was female. Somehow, the Rell just suddenly became just *so* much more fascinating *after* he married cousin Rija." Catanya waved it away with elegant, practiced gestures. "Completely blown out of proportion by Rija and his fans."

Bot said, "Hmmmm."

"And besides," Catanya continued in his studied devil-may-care fashion. "If Rezdi is here, Rija'd be a fool to damn me for the same thing he's doing. With his cousin, no less."

Bot and SaKoszt said, "Hmmmm."

"I wouldn't try that one on, Catanya."

They turned to find a tall, emaciated Vulcanoid standing in the doorway. Beside him was a healthier looking one, who said, "Well, he might try it. Nothing to lose."

The JetCheqs rose en masse and threw themselves into their cousin's and brother's arms. Bringing the newcomers over, they introduced the emaciated one as Hobeia, who was Rezdi's nolo and SaDobra, who was SaKoszt's noli.

"Are they really playing croquet without us?" SaDobra asked, outraged.

"Seems like it, Cousin, seems like it," Hobeia drawled in a strange raspy voice. "Wouldn't they let you play, either, Mr. Garak?" he asked.

"I chose not to," Garak said, watching the game.

"Really? How incredible," Catanya said, startled into candor and examining him for signs of insanity.

There were whoops and war cries from the croquet lawn and a JetCheq stampede back to the house.

"Oh, dear, they've seen us," Bot said. "Battle stations, Catanya."

"How very rude to run off in the middle of a game," SaDobra observed to the Cardassian. "What must you think of us, Mr. Garak?"

"I think your cousins are glad to see you," Garak said, but it was lost in the loud reunion on the terrace. He noted some stiffness between SaRija and Catanya but their brothers and cousins simply got between them and talked very loudly.

"GET DOWN THERE AND FINISH THAT GAME RIGHT NOW," Hobie boomed from the doorway in his best ship boarding voice.

"UNCLE!" Catanya flung himself into his senior uncle's arms.

"Oh, HELLO, Catanya!" Hobie sounded alarmed and looked round for SaRija and then at the newcomers. "And all of you! How nice!" He looked pleased. "Take your cousins and go finish the game before the Terrans declare it for Starfleet or something. Go! We'll talk later."

Prying Catanya off him, the pirate watched the herd stampede back to the croquet lawn. "What mad things," Hobie said affectionately, watching the interrupted croquet game resume. "What must you think of us, Mr. Garak?"

"That the JetCheqs are very fond of each other."

"And?"

"Shall I write down my revenge list or will you remember it?"

"I shall remember it."

Garak told him.

Tea that afternoon was a hectic affair. Bashir quickly recapped the croquet game without ever telling Garak who won. His recital was interrupted by SaRija throwing a cup of tea in Catanya's face and then lunging for his throat. Rezdi bet ten credits on Catanya, Commander Memphis took the other side of the bet, but neither made a move to intervene. Tien and Farro, being the eldest of the cousins, pulled them apart. Ling took SaRija off to scold him and Maja drew Catanya outside to discuss the incident. As usual, Jir was too shocked to be of any use to his child.

However, this hardly caused a ripple in the conversation and after a few curious glances, Hobie resumed his conversation with Professor Sivarg and Dr. Seniz about aeronautic design. Jir was in serious consultation about patent transfers and royalties with Mr. Bhomgharrid, who was also a Federation attorney, although not licensed to appear before the Vulcan bar like Jir. Bot, SaKoszt, Wiskott-Aldrich and Sisko seemed to be having an animated conversation about starships, where they had been and what they had done in them.

SaRija and Catanya were reintroduced to the pack and were cautiously polite to each other. O'Brien and SaRija began a discussion about Terran composers and piano music in general. Or tried to, they were both dragged into the design discussion Hobie was having with the professors.

Garak sat next to Bashir and enjoyed the hubbub around him. It was comfortable; he was being ignored and was enjoying that very much. He began hearing the word 'Lyra' here and there in the conversations.

"Well, if we stop saying his name, he really will be dead," Hobeia said loudly.

"Shut up, Hobeia!" Jir was really angry.

"Bad subject, Cousin," Rezdi warned softly.

"I won't shut up and it's not a bad subject. He saved me," the emaciated young man insisted. He stared hard at Bot and Polmira, who'd winced and closed their eyes. "I refuse to believe..."

"As do I, Hobeia, as do I," Hobie said softly.

"You should tell him," Hobeia said, calmer, staring at Garak. "We JetCheqs like him, he should know."

"Well, I like him, too," Hobie agreed. "But I don't need an audience to..."

In the manner of a well oiled machine, the JetCheqs herded everyone out of the room with promises of piano music, walks in the garden, a look at a workshop, a chat about the Romulans, etc. Hobie and Garak found themselves suddenly alone.

Hobie began to pace and looked uncomfortable. Garak took pity on him and asked, "Who's Lyra?"

"My son," Hobie said, leaving off his pacing and looking hard at Garak's bland face. "My middle son."

"Tell me and get it over with." Garak patted the couch next to him.

Hobie sat down and thought for a moment. "D'you know what the Ssara monks are?"

"No."

"Well, they're lunatics," Hobie said. "They worship a field of stones that they claim are oracles. They claim they are oracles because, down through the generations, their most holy members were entombed in these stones and their consciousness became immortal.

"My son, Lyra, fell in with the Ssara monks while I was at war and too busy to notice. Until it was too late.

"My Lyra was always quiet and introspective. I thought perhaps he'd take up a life in religion. Perhaps in the Gozshedrefreingin commune. Maja thought so too, so we were horrified when we learned he was with the Ssara monks.

"I knew something was wrong when I could no longer feel him in my mind. I do not intrude in my children's lives or consciousness but we are aware of each other. Except when we shield for privacy, which is often. But this was different; it was as if Lyra simply turned away from all of us.

"I went to the Ssara monastery and brought him out and home. He left at the first possible moment and went back. I went and got him again; he went back. This happened three times, the third time there was almost a war with the Yrina system, where the Ssaras live, and the Federation and the Klingons were becoming annoyed. They don't like me near their space very often.

"I sent Maja to reason with him. Maja could reason with the devil. But it didn't do any good. When Lyra makes up his mind, that's it.

"So, this is the horror we learned later. When the monks decided they've found a new oracle, after much meditation and training, the initiate's arms and legs are amputated, their eyes and eardrums removed. When their body system stabilizes, what's left of them is entombed in a stone in a field of stones, called the Srasa. The idea is that the oracle's consciousness will merge with the stone.

"My brothers and the JetCheqs have all very quietly visited the stone. We can't tell if he's there or not. I thought, once, I could feel him there and sometimes I dream, but, well, they're just dreams."

"And what did Hobeia mean?" Garak asked after some silence.

"Did you notice anything odd about my namesake?" Hobie asked, staring at the ceiling.

"He seemed rather unwell," Garak said carefully.

"That's because he's mostly machine."

"The Borg?"

"No, but something like them," Hobie said. "It's a big galaxy, Mr. Garak, lots and lots of strange machine-like creatures in it. Not all of them as, um, aggressive as the Borg.

"Hobeia was way far out scouting for me when his ship blew up around him. Because he's half Vulcan and tough as nails anyway, he survived in an air pocket in the engine room. He said, at the time, he wished he hadn't. His arms and legs were burned off, he was blinded, and what was left was badly burned and crushed. He said all that kept him on this plane was Lyra telling him the stories they'd loved as children.

"He was rescued by the machine beings, he calls them, he became one of them. Hobeia said Lyra was with him the whole time and that Lyra convinced the machine beings to fix up his body and give him a ship and send him home.

"I don't know why they did but they did. It's the same Hobeia, mostly machine but the same kid otherwise. He refuses to believe Lyra is dead. He's even asked the machine beings to give Lyra a new body but he says they never answer him. Every few years, Hobeia goes off and gets 'tuned up' by them, comes back better than new.

"Comes back with new technologies for us as well," Hobie concluded and fell silent.

"I see," Garak said softly.

"Do you, Mr. Garak?" Hobie turned sideways to meet the Cardassian's eye. "If you marry me, you'll be joining a family of eccentrics, actors, priests, a biomachine, a possibly dead oracle, a there and back again transsexual, exiles, half-breeds, pirates, artists, dancers, gamblers, adventurers, engineers, an accountant, and a lawyer. You'd be a very respectable addition to our rather motley crew."

"I'm merely a tailor, Captain Talljet," Garak said primly.

"And I'm merely a shipbuilder, Mr. Garak." Hobie smiled tenderly and reached over to stroke the Cardassian's glossy black hair.

"I..." Garak was distracted by a commotion in the next room. "Now what?"

"Probably Rija and Catanya are at it again." Hobie snarled. He'd half risen when the doors opened and everyone, plus two, came back in.

"We made it, Uncle!" Hraja threw himself into Hobie's arms.

"A lovely, fast ship, Hobie," MajaKhat said, embracing him. "Dreadful food, though."

"Are you hungry, Master Khat?" SaRija asked.

"Yes."

"Cheese sandwiches for everyone!" SaRija cried. "Come help me, Catanya!"

"With pleasure, Cousin," the JirCheq said, cheerfully following him out of the room.

MajaKhat and Hraja were introduced to Garak, who was staring at Hobeia.

"I've brought you something, Mr. Garak," Hraja said shyly handing a parcel to the Cardassian. "Faro said you knew my work, and I thought..." he trailed off watching Garak unwrap the statue. "It's just a simple carving I did on the way here. I hope you don't mind."

"It's magnificent," Garak said sincerely. It was a standing Humanoid figure in lines of such elegant simplicity it seemed as if from a dream.

"Are you pleased?" Hraja asked, insecure only when he really wanted to make someone happy.

"Very pleased, thank you," Garak said, looking into the sculptor's face. "I shall treasure it."

They were interrupted by the cheese sandwiches and the excited babble of the JetCheqs catching up on their exiled cousin's news.

Garak excused himself for a nap before dinner and slipped away with Bashir. On his way out he noticed Hobie and Hobeia in conversation with Wiskott-Aldrich, Professor Sivarg and Dr. Seniz. He imagined the biomachine had much to say to the Vulcan physicist and the FedTech engineer.

In his room, Bashir asked about Lyra and Garak told him about Hobie's middle son and nephew, Hobeia. The doctor lapsed into stunned silence and eventually said that Hobeia played croquet well.

Garak merely smiled and dragged him into bed for a nap.

The rest of the visit was very much like the first day. The party hunted qwoobas until there were no more qwoobas to hunt. Those who were not making love, played croquet or took walks in the afternoon. Dinners were relaxed and delightful and Garak either played cards or chatted with the family until bedtime. He spent quite a bit of time making love to Bashir and this was pleasant for both of them.

Garak noticed some tension between Ambassador Spock and Hobie, especially when the pirate asked the VulCheq how the reunification project was going. The room seemed to freeze, those that could flee did so, and Hobie either made sarcastic remarks (which Spock ignored or answered seriously) or looked bored (which Spock also ignored). Any Talljet, JetCheq, spouse or friend trapped in the discussion went rigid in the crossfire, surviving only by keeping still and looking politely interested.

The Rell of Vron appeared unexpectedly and looked very angry to see Rezdi in his house and then very glad to see Catanya there. He only stayed one evening, was introduced to Garak, had a brief chat with SaRija, and then left.

EO finally arrived in the company of Dr. Djerian and Neria-Tza. Djerian, Neria, Rezdi had a long and private conversation with Hobie. The three left the next day on some mysterious errand while Hobie was being scolded by EO for having a circus when he should be getting to know Mr. Garak. Hobie promised to mend his ways, spend more time with Mr. Garak and be a better person all around and then proceeded to do nothing of the kind.

The LingCheqs, who were, each and every one of them, starship designers and builders for their uncle's shipyard, spent a great deal of time talking to Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich, Professor Sivarg and Dr. Seniz. They were frequently joined in these technical conversations by Hobie, Hobeia and Bot. The clique even disappeared to various of Hobie's ships in orbit and SaRija's studio for hours on end.

Ling and Jir seemed to find Mr. Bhomgharrid's company fascinating and were often seen having serious discussions in hushed tones.

After Rezdi's departure, Commander Memphis taught Jake, Bashir and O'Brien how to play Cardassian bridge so he could get his game. EO, Catanya and Farro played so there were often two tables going after dinner.

When not absorbed in some pursuit, Garak was constantly fussed over and/or in conversation with some member of the Talljet family. It was obvious that they were trying to get to know the head of the family's potential spouse. Their consternation and puzzlement were great and they were trying desperately to understand Hobie's choice. In consultation with each other the only consensus they could reach was that Mr. Garak was mature, level headed, sensible and a good conversationalist. Neither they nor EO could fathom what Dr. Bashir was doing there, but it was in Hobie's generous nature that if he married Garak, he'd let the Cardassian keep his current lover on the side. It seemed that Hobie might be taking his domestic comfort to a new level, evolving into a stable and harmonious life with Mr. Garak, who would be pleasant and secure for him. Thus, the JetCheqs, their spouses and lovers and the Talljets' spouses and lovers constructed a reality for themselves around the Hobie-Garak anti-romance they were witnessing.

Of course, none of this was discussed with Hobie and when it was discussed with Jir, Maja or Ling, they simply nodded and changed the subject.

And so the time went by and eventually Wiskott-Aldrich said they should all go home and leave the Talljets in peace. He was in remarkably good spirits and offered to marry Garak to Hobie on his flagship and leave Garak there. This idea was politely scorned and the DS9 residents excused themselves to pack up. Pleasant as their vacation had been, they were all ready to go home and back to work.

Julian kissed Garak's neck and rolled off him. "It's nice to be home, isn't it, Elim?" he said.

"Umm, yes, no distractions," Garak agreed. "No fresh air, fresh food, qwooba hunting, croquet, Cardassian bridge..."

"Now, now. I played croquet in the holodeck with Miles and Dax and Worf." Bashir reminded him. "You didn't want to play and you didn't want to play Cardassian bridge when Commander Memphis was here the other day. The rest I can't do anything about. I miss making love in the morning light as much as you do."

Garak held him closer. "It is nice to be away from the Talljets," he admitted.

"Yes. Very."

Garak restocked his shop and had a re-opening sale. Bashir returned to the Infirmary and they both fell back into the rhythm of the station.

Garak wrote a tasteful thank you note to SaRija. He received a pleasant comm from the VulCheq, hoping that Garak would be his guest again someday. It was all very civilized; neither Hobie Talljet nor marriage were mentioned by either of them.

Many weeks passed and Garak had no sign of Hobie. The Cardassian and his human lover were greatly relieved by this turn of events.

Bashir made a discreet inquiry to Sisko, who made a discreet inquiry to Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich about Bashir's petition to marry Garak and was told that there was no new decision, but the resubmitted request had not been rejected. Yet. The doctor did not tell Garak about this and hid his hope and disappointment from everyone.

So, Garak enjoyed the peace restored to his life, his larger quarters, his new art collection, Bashir, and a future uncluttered with marriage proposals from handsome pirates with large, eccentric families.

Until the collar of Issoleanian diamonds arrived by special messenger. Wary as always, Garak demanded that the package be opened in Odo's presence before he would accept it. The messenger, an Andorian and a bonded employee of Federation Express, was agreeable and stood by politely while the box was unsealed.

Even Odo's eyes widened at the opulent display. Issoleanian diamonds have a bluish cast to them, they would look lovely against Garak's neckridges.

After a quick glance at something his guts told him he could never accept, Garak tore opened the card and read the now familiar Klingon verses. He didn't recognize the handwriting, which was ugly as well, so he scanned to the bottom of the card for the signature: Zbricacolvir.

'Who's Zbricacolvir?' he wondered. "Any charge if I write a note before you take it back?" Garak asked.

"No, not as long as it fits into the box and the weighs the same," the messenger told him.

Garak jotted a quick note in Klingonese to the effect that he could not accept such an expensive gift and please leave him alone. It was the same note he'd sent repeatedly to Talljet and he hoped it would have more effect on this Zbricacolvir person, whomever or whatever it was. He stuffed the card into the box and sealed it up. "Thank you; I refuse this delivery," the Cardassian said formally.

The messenger handed him a padd with the formal refusal form and Garak, with Odo as witness, signed off. Fully living up to the discipline of his profession and the reputation of his employer, the messenger returned to his ship and left without even stopping for a drink at Quark's.

"Who sent that, Garak?" Odo asked when they were alone.

"Someone named Zbricacolvir," Garak said. "Have you ever heard of him or her?"

"No, never. Why are you suddenly so popular?" Odo asked as he was leaving.

"I've no idea, Constable, as you know I'm just a plain and sim..."

"Good-bye, Garak." On his way out, Odo passed Bashir, on his way in to take Garak to lunch.

Neither Garak nor Odo mentioned the refused jewels to Bashir or anyone else.

However, the subject of the rejected diamonds refused to die. Wiskott-Aldrich heard of it and demanded Garak accept them the next time they were offered. Garak did not answer. Master Ghet heard of it and asked if Garak was being annoyed by the pirate Zbricacolvir. Garak ignored him, too. Hobie sent a bottle of good wine and asked, in a rather leading fashion, if *everything* was all right. Garak thanked him for the wine and left it at that. Johnny Memphis bought him a drink at Quark's and asked him how long and how well he knew Zbricacolvir.

"Never and not at all," Garak said, very tired of the subject but needing information. "Why do you ask?"

"He's one of the scariest creatures I've ever seen or heard of," Memphis answered with more candor than the Cardassian had been expecting.

"How do you know this?" Garak asked.

"I was present at one of Wiskott-Aldrich's meetings with him," Memphis said. "All the hair stood up on my body. Probably not something that'd happen to you, Elim."

Garak smiled and said no, probably not. "Why is he so frightening?"

"He's part Nyra," Memphis told him. "Along with the Tziviians, they're the most hostile of the telepaths we know about. By Terran standards, they're pathological."

"Why does Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich have anything to do with a pathology?" Garak asked.

"This is starting to sound like an interrogation, Elim," Memphis teased.

"Then have another drink and keep talking, Commander. You're the first being that's been able or willing to tell me anything about the creature," Garak said sincerely and gestured to Quark for another round. "If this Zbricacolvir is going to send me diamonds that Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich is going to insist I accept, I ought to know a little about him."

Memphis looked serious, realizing that Garak's light tone was cover for deeper anxiety. "I think the Talljets should get you out of here, Elim. If Zbricacolvir is as interested as he seems to be, it's because he knows Hobie's interested."

"Why is that?"

"They're rivals in just about everything."

"I see," Garak said calmly. "Tell me about Zbricacolvir."

"He's bigger than Bot Tossaria. He's some humanoid mix with a little Klingonoid tossed in for looks, and Nyra in his eyes and the way he moves."

"Moves?"

"Well... you don't see it in telepaths that spend a lot of time in the Federation," Memphis explained, groping for words. "They learn to move so not to scare the low psi population. The Betazoids and the Talljets move more slowly and carefully than they can, than they feel comfortable, so they don't frighten anybody. I think the Vulcans' logic has caused them to forget it altogether." He swigged some more of his drink.

"Moves?" Garak prompted.

"Oh, yeah." Memphis shook himself. "Zbricacolvir moves as if, instead of him moving forward, reality is moving backwards, away from him. Like those creatures in nightmares. The ones that are walking toward you and keep getting closer and closer, even though you're running as fast as you can."

"Very poetic, Johnny, I've never encountered such a creature," Garak scoffed, wondering if Memphis had been drinking before they went to Quark's. The Commander's brown eyes were as clear as they ever were, but his distracted, worried air were new to Garak.

"Cardassians lead very sheltered lives in the alpha quadrant." Memphis called for another round.

After certain terrifying events in the city of Kri on the planet of Gyvrre, Obsta Fira more or less retired from thievery to concentrate on swindling. In many ways he was as good a negotiator as EO; however, his clientele was less posh, mostly being criminals, low-lifes and lunatics. Nevertheless, Obsta managed to make a name for himself as the one being in the Autonomous Zones who could still cut a deal when violence, terror and stupidity had failed. Why this was true was a very simple combination of nerve, cunning and intimidation tactics Obsta had perfected over the years, if not raised to an art form. The scoundrel credited his diplomatic expertise to the time he'd spent in the company of Sarek the Vulcan on Imk, and later on Gyvrre. He usually omitted the fact that Sarek was marooned on Imk with Maja Talljet and would otherwise have never had anything to do with a creature like Obsta Fira. But it was such a long time ago, almost everyone had forgotten why Obsta had known Sarek. Just as the galaxy had forgotten that Sarek had planned robberies for Obsta and that Maja had supported Sarek and himself as a prostitute. Some things really are best forgotten and Obsta had become a successful deal-maker among the lesser crime lords on the edges of the Federation and the Empires.

Obsta Fira was tall, lean and had nice black beady eyes. Humanoid, he was a flashy dresser and his graying at the temples hair was brushed smooth as a dove's breast. While he was neither, he looked liked someone you could trust and sounded like a coffin salesman. And Garak had listened politely to his spiel and, when Obsta presented the collar of Issoleanian diamonds, threw him bodily out of his shop before he could sing any more of Zbricacolvir's praises.

Or rather, Garak had asked Captain Doxoru and Colonel Rubicion, who were also in his shop annoying him, to throw Obsta out. They did so, with much vigor.

Rolling to a stop in the middle of the Promenade, Obsta Fira found himself staring at long black skirts over dusty boot tips.

"Obsta Fira," Maja drawled disgustedly down at him. "I see you've sunk to new and profounder depths."

"Ah, Maja, how pleasant to see you after all these years," Obsta drawled back with a sneer. "You've hardly changed a bit from your prostitute days. Have you given it all up or do you still practice your old profession? Not bad to have something to fall back on if your life in religion falls through." He tucked the diamonds into his coat and hauled himself up to standing.

Maja smiled evilly and glanced around at the small crowd they'd collected. They had an audience because no one in the station's memory had ever been physically ejected from Garak's shop; they were dressed very strangely for DS9, Maja in his cassock, Obsta in a fuchsia suit with silver tassels all over it; and they were speaking the Magidrian patois, which defied the station translators. It sounded like they had gone mad and were snarling and howling at each other.

"Hemzjit (let's go), Obsta, Quark's," Maja said.

"Hochofedra (fine with me), Maja." Obsta shrugged and followed him into the bar.

"Now that we've done you that little favor by throwing that riffraff out of your shop, Mr. Garak," Rubicion said suavely. "Are you still going to refuse to have dinner with us tonight?"

"Yes. I have other plans." It was true, he was dining with Bashir.

"Change them," Doxoru suggested.

"No."

"Oh, c'mon, Mr. Garak. We're dying to hear the qwooba hunt gossip." Rubicion was reduced to begging. "And how your wild romance with Hobie is going."

"The qwooba hunt was delightful and I hope I never see Captain Talljet again as long as I live," Garak said calmly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have things to do."

"Like what?" Rubicion asked.

"Sewing."

Doxoru laughed and held up his hand to silence his cousin. "Do call us if we can throw anyone else out of your shop today, Mr. Garak. We'll be around until tomorrow morning." He was still laughing as he herded Rubicion out of the shop.

Glad to see them go, Garak did wonder why sewing was funny to Doxoru but decided they were mad and everything is funny to madmen. He was about to cut out a pattern, when Wiskott-Aldrich commed from Ops and told him he was dining with him that evening.

"Ah, such short notice, Admiral," Garak said tragically. "Alas, I'm afraid I have other plans. Some other time perhaps?"

"Change your plans."

"No."

The admiral clicked off. Madmen, diamonds, gaudy pink suits, admirals, unwanted dinner invitations - Garak wondered how annoying the day was going to be. If he'd only known, he'd have had kanaar with his lunch. Perhaps kanaar for his lunch. Trying to get back to work, Garak was interrupted yet again by the comm. Only this time it was Bashir breaking their date and asking him, nicely, to have dinner with Wiskott-Aldrich.

"Why?" Garak asked.

"Because he's made a very convincing argument to me and Captain Sisko for it."

"Which is?"

"That he'll stay here until you do have dinner with him."

"That sounds more like a threat, Doctor." His lover did not answer and Garak began to imagine the arguments and threats Wiskott-Aldrich must have been making. "Wonderful," he sighed. "What time and where?"

"So, Zbricacolvir has sent you to get him Elim GarakFara," Maja snarled over his drink in Quark's. "I always knew you had the soul of a pimp, Obsta."

"I'm sure it's your professional experience that gives you such a professional eye, my dear," Obsta snarled back.

"How much for you to go away and not come back?" Maja asked suddenly.

"You don't have enough."

"Howdaya know?"

"I'm working for Zbricacolvir and nobody quits Zbricacolvir and lives to tell the tale."

"So?"

"So? You're asking me to commit suicide."

"So?"

"So?!"

"Idiot," Maja spat. "Why did you take the job if you knew that?"

"The usual reason," Obsta said, sipping his overpriced drink. "The money."

"Look, Obsta..."

"Look, Maja, I have places to go, people to see and things to do and you, however charming, are not on my list." Obsta rose and walked out of Quark's without another word. His plan A for Garak had failed and it was now necessary, crucial in fact, to put plan B into action. It was a good thing Zbricacolvir knew when Wiskott-Aldrich, who had some real influence with the Cardie tailor, would be on DS9. So far the only bright spot in Obsta's day had been sticking Maja with the check in Quark's.

Rather than look foolish chasing an overdressed humanoid down the Promenade, Maja ordered another drink and listened to Quark book a dinner reservation for four. He called for his check, frowned at it but paid it and then went to Garak's shop.

"Master Ghet, what a pleasant surprise," Garak greeted him. "I shall be with you in but a moment."

Maja nodded and wandered into the workroom where he felt comfortable. The mellow lights and rich fabrics of the display room, however lovely, were not much to the simple monk's taste. He looked at the sketches he'd made over a year ago and approved of the plain frames Garak had chosen for them.

"How may I serve you, Master?" Garak said professionally. This Talljet, any Talljet, was the last creature in the galaxy he wanted to see just then.

"First, do call me Maja, Mr. Garak. I find it so pleasant when you do," he drawled. "Those look nice in here." He jerked his chin at the sketches.

"I'm very fond of them, Maja."

"I'm so glad," the MageCheq said, losing interest in the subject. "I see that scoundrel has visited you."

"Which one?"

"Which one? What do you mean?"

"I've been visited by Colonel Rubicion, Captain Doxoru and someone named..." Garak picked up a card from his worktable. "Obsta Fira, and now Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich has bullied Sisko and Bashir into bullying me into having dinner with him."

"Hmmm. Obsta Fira brought you those diamonds again, didn't he?"

"I do not know, I asked the Colonel and the Captain to eject him after he mentioned Zbricacolvir." Garak looked hard at Maja and continued, "I've looked into this Zbricacolvir person and I think you Talljets have brought me some serious trouble."

"Maybe," Maja said vaguely. "No doubt Zbricacolvir is sending you diamonds because he's heard of the engagement."

"What engagement?"

"Yours to Hobie."

"I'm not!"

"Well, *we* know that but the message has gotten garbled over time and space," Maja said blandly. "Almost everyone interested in the subject assumes you and Hobie became engaged at the qwooba hunt."

"But we did not."

"I know. But Zbricacolvir's gotten the wrong message and because he wants whatever Hobie's got, he now wants you."

"And exactly what am I to do now that an insane pirate telepath is wooing me?" Garak snarled.

Maja smiled serenely. "Come with me now and we'll keep you safe from him."

"That is out of the question."

"Ah, too bad. Then accept the diamonds and give them to me. I'll have them returned in a way that will discourage him."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm your best hope for getting rid of Zbricacolvir's unwanted attentions."

"I'll think about it."

"I'll find you later then." Maja turned to leave. "Oh, by the way, we've had news of five of those ten *friends* you mentioned to Hobie on Csirra II."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Vehicle accidents, natural causes and a fall from a high place. A very high place. Sad, sad, all very sad. Check the death notice archives for the past few weeks. Good day, Mr. Garak."

Garak went to his shop viewer and began to sift through the archives for his enemies', now dead enemies', names.

Maja retired to his ship, one of those fast, new Talljet Inc. ships, and asked its exec where the nearest Federation Express office was. He then began to compose a strongly worded and unambiguous note to Zbricacolvir regarding Elim Garak's lack of interest in him and his diamonds.

Defensive dressing. Garak was surveying his wardrobe for such an outfit. He considered wearing the ugly gray suit he'd worn at the tsra but settled on a simple black wool suit with a high-necked, long coat. He would wear a belted black silk brocade tunic that had a daringly low, square neckline, but he would be modest and keep his coat on. At least he'd be warm enough. He ignored the door chime, if it was anyone he wanted to see, that person would key in the door code and let himself in.

Which is exactly what Bashir did. "I'm sorry you have to do this, Elim," he said, pulling the tailor into his arms and a passionate kiss.

"Yes, me, too," Garak agreed. "Let's stay here and go to bed early." He listened to Bashir's defeated sigh and patted his back. "Well, hopefully it won't be too horrible and, as you say, Wiskott-Aldrich will go away after we dine. So there's something to look forward to."

Bashir stepped back and looked at him. "Is this what you're wearing?" he asked.

"Yes. Do you approve?"

"It shows a lot of your neck, doesn't it?" Bashir watched Garak put on the coat and button it. "Oh, that's better. Is it new?"

"It was a year ago."

"Ah. Well. All black suits look the same to me."

"Yes, I know." Garak smiled and pulled him close for another kiss. "What's wrong?" he asked his squirming lover.

"This fabric is scratchy."

'Terrans,' Garak thought but merely said he'd have to being going or he'd be late.

Bashir walked him back to the Promenade and said he'd see him later.

On his way to his quarters, Bashir ran into Maja Talljet, who invited him to play holo-croquet while they waited for Garak's dinner to finish. Bashir won; Maja's mind really wasn't on the game. They had a quick drink at the bar and then decided to wait for Garak in Garak's quarters. Surely the tailor would not mind if they did. Maja spent the evening examining the old Cardassian masters in Garak's quarters and making sympathetic noises as Bashir whined about Wiskott-Aldrich.

"Yes, the Admiral can make one's life most difficult," Maja sighed vaguely.

At just that moment, Wiskott-Aldrich was making Garak's life difficult.

It was painfully obvious by the second course that Wiskott-Aldrich and his dinner companions, Rubicion and Doxoru, had already had too much to drink. Garak sat demurely on Wiskott-Aldrich's right and listened to Starfleet gossip and watched battles being refought on the tablecloth. Both activities were excruciatingly boring for him and he was politely waiting for the first opportunity to bolt. He was also tired of removing Doxoru's hand from his thigh and keeping his feet well away from Rubicion's, across the table from him, which had developed an unnatural fondness for his.

The only bright spot was that no station personnel, especially Bashir, were present to witness Garak's embarrassment. Since there was nothing he could do about it but endure, that's what Garak did; endure.

The tailor had just yet again removed Doxoru's hand when Wiskott-Aldrich swayed in his direction.

"I wonder, Mr. Garak, what it is that excites the admiration of such admirable men?" The admiral slurred his way through his question and then sat back waiting for some kind of answer.

"If you mean Captain Talljet, Admiral, I have no idea." Garak glanced at Doxoru and Rubicion, who were listening with interest. "I've done nothing to encourage him. I've been doing my best to discourage him."

"Why so, Mr. Garak?" Doxoru asked cheerfully. "Hobie's a great guy: rich, handsome, brave, smart. Kind of guy that'd rescue you if you needed it." The Captain and his cousin were happy drunks so the hand that strayed once more to Garak's thigh was perfectly good-natured in its overheated way.

"I hope I shall never need to be rescued, Captain Doxoru," Garak sighed, wishing he could be rescued from this interminable dinner by someone; anyone would do at that point.

"Well, if you did, you'd have two fine champions," Wiskott-Aldrich said.

Garak glanced at Doxoru and Rubicion, thinking they'd have to sober up to be his champions. "Well, how nice, I'm sure they're credits to the Federation and the Terrans," he said brightly, starting to rise. "Oh, look at the time! Busy day tomorrow, so I must fly. Thank you so much for din..."

Wiskott-Aldrich's large hand on his shoulder encouraged him back into his chair. "I was not referring to Dox and Darcy, or really Talljet," the admiral said carefully, leaning close. "It was Zbricacolvir I had in mind."

"Yes, it's a mystery," Garak said sharply, wishing Quark's had bigger tables. "Do you know this Zbricacolvir person?"

"I am pleased to say I do."

"Then would you please be so kind as to tell him I am no more interested in him and his diamonds than I am in Talljet's overtures." Garak put his napkin on the table and started to get up again.

"I'm glad you mentioned those diamonds, Mr. Garak," Wiskott-Aldrich said, casually pressing Garak back into his seat. "You would be doing me a great honor if you would accept them." The admiral reached into his uniform pocket and drew out the dreaded collar of Issoleanian diamonds.

"I will say Zbricacolvir does things right," Rubicion observed, taking the collar from Wiskott-Aldrich.

Because of the construction of Cardassian necks, it was more like a shawl than a collar. Seven rows of large, square-cut diamonds would encircle Garak's neck, lying low where the neck joins the shoulder. The rows were joined in the front by three rows of four diamonds, larger than Garak's eyes, that had an especially vibrant blue glow in their depths.

Rubicion handed the diamonds back to Wiskott-Aldrich, who held them out to Garak.

"I cannot accept these," the tailor said firmly.

"Mr. Garak," Wiskott-Aldrich said with some menace. "Not only will you embarrass me if you don't put these on right now, you will make me angry. And I might decide to stay on DS9 and be very angry until you do put them on." He watched Garak sigh. "Now, that's better. Take your coat off."

Wishing he'd worn a more modest tunic, Garak complied and Wiskott-Aldrich slipped the diamonds over his head. They were cool and heavy against his neckridges.

"Those suit you, Mr. Garak," Rubicion said softly.

Garak met Rubicion's appreciative gaze with a cool and steady one. "Thank you, Colonel." He turned to Wiskott-Aldrich and said good-night, completely missing the exchange of looks between Doxoru and Rubicion.

"I'll walk you home, Mr. Garak," Rubicion said when Wiskott-Aldrich agreed the tailor could at last go home.

"I'm sure I'll find my way," Garak said firmly as he pulled his coat on and buttoned it.

"Shame to hide those diamonds," Doxoru observed.

"I'd be robbed before I got out of Quark's in these," Garak said.

"Well, that's true, even with Darcy to protect you," Wiskott-Aldrich said in a bored voice. His mission was over and now he just wanted to sleep off his dinner somewhere quiet.

"Thank you, I'm sure I don't need Colonel Rubicion's protection," Garak said sharply and headed for the stairs, Rubicion on his heels. He debated going to Bashir's quarters but decided not to lead the drunken GE there and make a scene. Awkward as it might be, Garak felt he could probably better discourage Rubicion, or fight him off, at his own door and without an audience.

"I think I'd rather see you with Hobie than Zbricacolvir," Rubicion said, taking his arm to slow him down.

"I don't want either of them," Garak said, trying to remove his arm from the colonel's iron grip. 'These GEs are strong,' he thought.

"Last time I talked to Hobie, he said he was worried enough to send Maja to look into it," Rubicion said, ignoring his companion's struggles.

"Oh, really? How very kind of him," Garak said, thinking it was Hobie's fault Zbricacolvir had ever even heard of him.

"Actually, you'd be safest if you married Bashir and came to live in the S system."

Rubicion said this just a little too casually, causing Garak to look sharply at him. "That isn't a solution, Colonel," he said firmly.

"Why not?"

"We're happy here."

"You're in danger here," Rubicion told him. "I can see where your Bashir might be too green to see it, but I'm surprised you're not more worried."

"What? Me, worry? I have the protection of such fine Starfleet personnel as your cousin and Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich," Garak sneered. "And, of course, yourself." They were standing before Garak's door and the tailor was wishing there were someone nearby should he need to call for help.

"I assure you, Mr. Garak, the Federation Marines will always be at your service," Rubicion leered. "May I come in?"

"No."

"Then here will do." Rubicion lunged and pinned Garak against the door in a hard, sloppy kiss.

The undeniable fact of Rubicion's superior speed and strength came home to Garak as he struggled, in vain, to push the GE off him. The colonel held him so tightly, Garak could feel the diamonds pressing into his breastplate. He was still struggling valiantly when the door slid open behind them and they tumbled into Bashir's and Maja's startled arms.

After a brief struggle, they were able to pry Garak from Rubicion's arms.

"Y'know, I *do* like Cardassians," Rubicion leered. "Especially when they're a little shy." He lunged but Maja and Bashir held him off.

"How dare you..." Garak was furious.

"Life is short, honey..." Rubicion was still struggling with his prey's rescuers.

"Your life is going to be very short," Garak said, low and dangerously.

"Go to bed, Elim," Bashir said, never taking his eyes off Rubicion.

Garak gaped at his lover and opened his mouth to protest.

"Go to bed," Bashir repeated firmly, still watching the formerly enraged but now amused Rubicion.

Really angry, Garak spun on his heel and marched out of the room.

"My compliments, Dr. Bashir," Rubicion snarled and stepped back from the doctor and the priest.

"You were just leaving, I believe, Colonel," Maja said blandly before Bashir could explode.

"Retreat? Hell, I'm just fightin' in another direction," Rubicion chuckled. He clicked his heels, bowed and was gone.

"Hmmm, well, that wasn't as bad as it could have been," Maja commented when the door was closed. "Of course you now have an enraged adult male Cardassian you just sent to bed like a child to deal with, but that's more your problem than mine, Dr. Bashir."

"Yes, well..."

"Yes, well, I need to have a word with Mr. Garak before I go. Perhaps I can deflect some of his wrath."

"I doubt it."

"Well, led on anyway," Maja said and followed Bashir to Garak's bedroom.

They indeed found an enraged Cardassian, shrugging out of his suit coat. "'Go to bed, Elim'?" he hissed furiously at Bashir. "This is beyond tolerable, this an outrage, this is..."

"I thought it was brilliant," Maja cut him off. "After all, Rubicion would have stood there fighting as long as you were there to admire him, Mr. Garak."

Garak narrowed his eyes as he realized the truth of this. "Really?" he said, not giving in just yet.

"Yes, really," Maja assured him. "You see, Rubicion thrives on competition and conquest. I don't know how your Dr. Bashir knew this, but he did and did exactly the right thing. It also establishes that you so very much belong to Bashir that it's no use Rubicion, or Doxoru for that matter, even trying to get you away from him." Maja looked at the diamonds thoughtfully. "I do hope it discourages Zbricacolvir but I doubt it will. He'll see Bashir merely as an obstacle to remove, not a challenge to overcome."

These sober words put out Garak's anger. He reached for Bashir and held him close.

"Where did you get this, Elim?" Bashir asked, tugging at the diamond necklace. "It looks like it weighs a ton."

"It does, my dear, it does." Garak disengaged from his lover to lift the necklace over his head. "You said you could get rid of these for me, Maja," he said, handing the ropes of stones to the MageCheq. "I hope you can. They seem unlucky."

"Oh? Do you believe in luck, Mr. Garak?" Maja asked, putting the diamonds around his own neck and tucking them under his cassock. It was the safest place for them.

"I believe in bad luck when I see it," Garak said vaguely. "Now if you'll excuse us, it's been a very long evening for me."

"Master Ghet, I'd like to know what's going on." Bashir took Garak's hand as he said this.

"Ask Mr. Garak, he knows as much as I do." Maja turned to leave.

"I very sincerely doubt that, Master," Bashir said coolly.

"Yes, so do I," Garak said, supportively. He'd much rather call it a night and go to bed with his lover, but if Bashir wanted to try to get the truth, or whatever it was, out of Maja, Garak was willing to applaud the effort. He was certain it was a doomed effort, but at least Bashir would try and at least Garak would watch.

"All right," Maja sighed and strolled into the living room. He spent a few moments complimenting Garak on his Cardassian paintings. "I suppose we have brought you bad luck, Mr. Garak," he admitted, when Garak and Bashir were settled on the couch. "Zbricacolvir is the worst sort of luck there is." Maja flung himself into a chair and drew the diamonds from his collar. "Several Standard years ago, Zbricacolvir got lucky and encroached upon the outer boundaries of the Tossarian Autonomous Zone. Hobie would love to get him out of his space but Zbricacolvir has dug in deep and it would be a major project to get rid of him. We'd also need a compelling reason or the other pirate empires would challenge Hobie's right to the planets Zbricacolvir took from him. Zbricacolvir claims that one of his children was murdered on the planet and that revenge was a legitimate reason for taking it. Well, this seems to have convinced the other pirates to steer clear of it. In fact, everyone except Starfleet ships steer clear of that space because Zbricacolvir will raid anything. Except Starfleet ships; he's not that stupid. Although I've heard some gossip that not even Starfleet is safe out there anymore, but I really don't know." Maja trailed off, watching the light dance in the blue depths of the diamonds.

"And what has this to do with me, Maja?" Garak asked, recalling him to the present.

"Oh; you; yes," Maja sighed. "Zbricacolvir wants whatever Hobie has - planets, ships, art, concubines. It would appear he's set his mind on you, Mr. Garak. I'm sure it's all due to that wild rumor that you and Hobie are engaged..."

"WHAT?" Bashir leapt off the couch.

"It's only a rumor, Doctor," Garak soothed. "Come. Do sit down and let Master Ghet finish this story."

"Yes, thanks. Well, as I was saying," Maja continued when Bashir was seated again. "That's why Zbricacolvir sent the diamonds, which you wisely rejected. Then sent Obsta fucking Fira with the diamonds, which you wisely rejected this afternoon, but have accepted this evening. Obsta can report back to his boss that the mission was accomplished, get paid and get far away from Zbricacolvir."

"Fira didn't give me the diamonds," Garak said. "Wiskott-Aldrich did."

"Did he really?" Maja chuckled mirthlessly. "So, now Zbricacolvir has an admiral for a delivery boy. I do wonder at the depths some people will sink to." Maja put the diamonds away and stood up. "Well, Mr. Garak, I shall do my best to discourage Zbricacolvir's interest in you. Until then, I suggest you sit tight. Unless you can find a good place to hide."

"I assure you I've no intention of hiding, Maja," Garak said coldly. "You Talljets have brought this Zbricacolvir on me, I expect you to keep him away from me."

"And we shall, Mr. Garak," Maja soothed. "If we can," he added prudently. "And now I must leave you to your evening, or what's left of it. I have places to go, people to see and things to do. Good night."

"Master Ghet?" Bashir rose to see him to the door. "What planet did Zbricacolvir take from Captain Talljet?"

"Izera 5," Maja said, exiting. "Heard of it?"

"No, never."

"Thought not." And he was gone.

Bashir turned back to Garak, who was brooding on the couch. "Do you think he can discourage this Zbricacolvir's interest in you?"

"I hope so," Garak said. "However, it would be so much simpler if he'd just kill him for me and get it over with."

"Garak! Master Ghet is a Klingon monk."

Garak considered informing his young lover that Master Ghet, aka Maja Talljet, was a member of a murderous quartet of ruthless half Magidrian marauders, legal marauding or otherwise, who would stop at nothing to accomplish their aims. Alas, he was frankly too tired to win any arguments just then. Or even expound on his theories of how dangerous the Talljets really were. It would be necessary to explain that, at Garak's almost casual request, the Talljets had arranged the murders of five high ranking and, to his mind, invulnerable Cardassian citizens. This was a very frightening fact, however personally gratifying, to him. Especially that absolutely no foul play was even hinted at in the death notices he'd read. Yes, it was revenge and it was as terrifying as it was sweet. But at just that moment, Garak wanted to get horizontal with Bashir and think over what Maja had said, and said by not saying, that evening. Garak suspected the Klingon monk had told him more than he could understand at that moment, maybe in the morning, after a nice night, he would have more insight into the situation. So, all he said was, "You're absolutely right, darling, what can I have been thinking? I must be tired; let's go to bed."

Some time went by. Hearing the shop bell, Garak came into the display room. He found two loudly dressed vulcanoids there: one in a skin tight magenta Atsta lizard skin suit and the other in a lime green full length Gnurda fur coat. "Oh... Rezdi, Catanya... what a... surprise."

"Good, bad or just surprising?" Catanya asked in his sexy drawling way.

"Cat," Rezdi admonished his brother and turned to Garak. "I suppose we should have let you know we were on our way but we didn't think we'd have time for a detour until, well, until we were here."

"Yes, we always try to warn innocent people that we're about to descend on them." Catanya yawned. "Not everyone is as good with surprises as you seem to be, Mr. Garak."

"I see," Garak said, blandly. "Well, what can I do for you?"

"Maybe I should buy some clothes," Catanya mused. "It's cold in here and will be cold where we're going." He shrugged off his furs, revealing that he was wearing a G-string and a pair of sneakers, and began to peruse the racks of suits.

'I'm having déjà vu,' Garak thought darkly. 'Or déjà Jir.'

"Maybe you should buy a few things for the trip, Cat," Rezdi agreed. "We did leave Cardassia in kinda a hurry."

Catanya picked out two modest black suits and went to try them on. He assured Garak he didn't need a bit of help and if he did, he'd call him.

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Garak," Rezdi said when they were alone. "Sorry to hear about your two friends on Cardassia. Heart failure and vehicle accidents happen every day but it is always sad when they happen to those we know. I'm sure there's more detail in the death notices posted today." He fixed Garak with a meaningful look that would have played well to the galleries (if there had been any) and paused dramatically. "And speaking of old friends," he said intensely (Garak would have been hearing the orchestra swelling to a crescendo, if there had been one). Taking an envelope with spiky Cardassian writing on it from his pocket and offering it to Garak.. "I have another letter from Legate Xriet. He would *very much* like an answer to this one."

"I have said all I have to say to the Legate," Garak said firmly, ignoring the proffered letter.

"So you have said and so I have understood," Rezdi clearly enunciated in theatrical, but measured, cadences. "However, the Legate has not heard all he wishes to hear from you, Mr. Garak. And so he has asked me to deliver yet another letter."

"Is that why you're here?" Garak asked. "To harass me for Legate Xriet?"

"Partly," Rezdi admitted. "Partly to condole with you about your friends', ah, transition to the other side." The gambler flapped the letter at him. "I think if you really didn't wish to be annoyed by Xriet, you'd have put him on your list of Cardassian friends. Alas, you did not."

"Is it too late to add him?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned," Rezdi drawled, looking him right in the eye. "Ten names or eleven; all the same to me. Are you adding him?"

Garak held the JirCheq's ironic gaze and said, "Not yet. I'll let you know."

"You do that," Rezdi sighed, laying the letter on the cash desk.

"Rezdi! Come look at these!" Catanya called from the workroom.

Garak and the gambler went into the workroom and found Catanya, dressed in a sober but tight black suit, staring at Maja's drawings.

"They're magnificent, Mr. Garak," Catanya said sincerely, waving at the sketches of the workroom. "How lucky you are to have them."

"Yes, lucky," Garak agreed.

"Damn, how'd I miss these when I was in here before?" Rezdi asked, moving to get a closer look.

"You were very tired that day, Rezdi," Garak reminded him.

"Oh, yeah?" Catanya asked slyly.

"Gambling all night, Noli, just gambling," Rezdi explained. "These are really Uncle Maja's soul talking, doncha think, Cat?"

"Yeah, nice, nice, nice," Catanya said brightly. "And so's this suit. What do you think, Mr. Garak?"

"It looks quite nice on you, Catanya." Garak thought with his lean build, pale skin and huge brown eyes, anything would look good on him.

"Then it's a done deal. D'you mind sending the bill to Uncle Hobie?"

"Yes, I do."

Catanya smiled and turned to his nolo. "Rez, d'you have any money?"

"Is Quark around?" Rezdi asked Garak.

Garak very graciously opened a comm to Quark and tried not to listen to Rezdi's side of the discussion, which was:

"Hey, Quark, can you cover a bill for me? No? Why not? Oh. Huh. Yeah, well, I think... um, never mind. How did Neria pay his tab from last time? Yeah? Still got the number for it? Can you put this on that? Oh, go ahead, he won't care. No, really, he won't, I know him; know him well. Oh, and keep it open so I can pay for lunch today, okay? Yeah, table for four, upstairs, something quiet. Yeah, I love you, too, Quark."

The gambler looked up at Garak, still admiring the sketches with Catanya. "All set, Mr. Garak," he said, ignoring his noli's wry look. "Quark's sending over a credit chip number for you to bill this cute outfit to. Also, we'd like to invite you and Dr. Bashir to lunch."

"No, Rez, I think his name is Dr. Busher," Catanya said quickly.

"No, Catanya, Rezdi was right the first time." Garak was on the horns of a dilemma. Most likely the credit chip company would refuse the charge for the suit, so he'd be out that money. If he accepted Rezdi's luncheon invitation and that charge was refused as well, then Quark would expect him to pay for that, too. As generous as the Talljet family had been to him, Garak really couldn't see allowing himself to be stuck with two checks if he could avoid it. He was on the verge of a tactful refusal of lunch (there was nothing he could do about the suit without deeply offending the JirCheqs, who, he felt, meant well) when Bashir came in.

"Dr. Busher! How nice! We could have a hand of Cardassian bridge after lunch, yes?" Catanya had genuinely liked Bashir on Csirra II, even if he couldn't keep his name straight.

Bashir laughed at him. The doctor had liked Catanya's winsome bad boy charm enough to not even care that the lissome beauty never called him by the right name. "I've hardly time for lunch, Catanya," Bashir said, turning to the tailor. "I suppose you're engaged already, Garak?" he asked.

"We've just invited both of you," Catanya told him. "I do believe Mr. Garak was just on the verge of calling you."

"Oh, really?" Bashir turned bright eyes on his lover.

Garak smiled coolly and surrendered as gracefully as possible to the irresistible JetCheq charm he was being subjected to. "If you would enjoy it, Dr. *Bashir*," he said. "Then we shall be delighted to accept your invitation, Rezdi and Catanya."

"Oh, how fabulous! But do let's go; I'm starving," Catanya scooped up his gaudy furs and marched out. "Lead on to this Quark's place, Rez," he said to his nolo while Garak locked up. "How d'ya know this guy anyway?"

"Quark? Oh, he used to provide the room, food and drink for Basheb games when I used to come here," Rezdi explained. "Before Staflet got it, used to be some high rollers came through here on their way to somewhere else."

"This seems quite out of the way for that, Rezdi," Bashir said.

"How so, Doctor?"

"Well, it's the frontier."

"Well, one man's frontier is another man's hub," Rezdi laughed. "Terok Nor used to be a pretty good place to break a journey to the Romulan or Cardassian Empire, or into the Autonomous Zones. This was a good place to have a drink and buy a suit."

"Still is, Rez," Catanya reminded him.

"Yeah, that looks nice on you, baby," Rezdi told him, slipping his arm around him.

"That true, Garak?" Bashir asked.

"Yes; that suit does look nice on Catanya," Garak answered.

"I meant..."

"Oh, Terok Nor, yes. Well, most of my business before Starfleet arrived was with travelers passing through," Garak said. "Actually, that still is much of my business and why I keep so much pret a porter in the shop."

"Preto what?" Catanya asked.

"Ready to wear, off the rack. Like your suit."

"I adore this suit," Catanya vehemently affirmed.

'I certainly hope so since I'm almost surely making a present of it to you,' Garak thought sourly as they stepped into Quark's.

"Hullo, Quark, how's Neria's credit holding up?" Rezdi greeted their host.

"Gone through so far," Quark said. "Should be okay."

"I do hope so," Garak murmured.

Quark ignored him as he was being introduced to Catanya just then. "I've got some of your vids," he said.

"Oh? That slut SuperNova? Which ones?" Catanya leaned on the bar and went through the disks Quark handed him. "This one, _Visit to Ecstasy_, is probably the best of this lot. Not my very best, but definitely in the top ten."

"What do you consider your best work, Super?" Quark asked. He seemed fascinated by the former female former porn star.

"_Dale's Frustration_."

"Oh, I have that one at home," Quark said, leading them upstairs.

"Are you a fan, Mr. Garak?" Catanya asked as they handed their menus to the waiter.

"I've never seen your, ah, erotic vids, Catanya," Garak said. "Only your pin-ups and some of your striptease dances. I did enjoy those." He met Bashir's amused look with a steady one his own.

"I'm surprised," Catanya said. "Cardassians hate me almost as much as they hate Jir the Dancer. I think they hate me more because I don't bother with artistic pretensions. Like Jir. However did you discover me?"

"It was through some traders that I became acquainted with your... lack of pretensions." Garak leaned back as their busty waitress put his lunch in front of him. "And clothing," he added to further amuse Bashir.

Catanya was quite openly staring at the woman's cleavage and leaned forward to ask, "Where did you get your breasts done?"

"I didn't!" she squeaked.

"Oh, honey, go lie to somebody who likes it," the stripper drawled as he cupped one of her breasts and squeezed. "God is everything but not even god made these."

Sensibly, their waitress fled.

"Well, there went her tip," Catanya sighed and turned his attention to his food. "Are you interested in pornography, Dr. Bashir?"

Bashir was writhing with suppressed laughter and could barely tell him no, he wasn't terribly interested in watching sex.

Catanya was, like all his clan, good-natured and simply laughed with the doctor. He suggested Bashir rent _Dale's Frustration_ from Quark before he passed final judgment on the genre.

The conversation turned to the qwooba hunt and Talljet gossip. Bashir was rather sorry he had to go back to the Infirmary after lunch as he would have enjoyed a game of croquet with Rezdi and Catanya in the holodeck.

Although Rezdi and Garak spoke Kardasi during lunch, neither of them mentioned Cardassia or the fact that the JirCheqs had just come from Cardassia Prime.

Rezdi sent his noli ahead to ready their ship. They were expected for a card game on Tiarra 6 (the gambler was expected, Catanya was just arm candy) and would be leaving immediately. He walked Garak back to his shop. "You wouldn't consider even the smallest note to Legate Xriet, would you, Mr. Garak?"

"No."

"He will be very disappointed."

"Then he must learn to live with his disappointment as others do," Garak said firmly. "Rezdi, I realize how demanding Xriet is and I know that he doesn't like the messages you're giving him from me, but what was, was, and though it was very pleasant, it is no longer. I truly have nothing to say to him. If you could make him understand that, I would be most grateful," he added and went into his shop.

Rezdi walked very slowly to his ship, wondering if Garak had forgotten that Gul Xriet had been a man who always got what he wanted. And Legate Xriet was still all of that, squared.

"What did he say?" Catanya asked him, referring to Garak and Xriet.

"He said 'I have nothing further to say to Legate Xriet' again," Rezdi quoted.

Catanya scowled at the contours of the future forming in his mind's eye. "Oooh, I have a bad feeling about that," he said.

"Yah, me, too, noli," Rezdi sighed, acknowledging his departure sequence from docking bay control. "Me, too."

Late one morning, several weeks later, Garak looked up from tallying receipts to find Hobie Talljet entering his shop. He sighed; he'd been hoping Hobie had been discouraged and would stop bothering him. Alas, the pirate set a bundle of Mfrine roses and a bottle of good champagne in front of him.

"How well you're looking, Mr. Garak," Hobie said urbanely surveying the Cardassian.

"How kind of you to say so, Captain Talljet," Garak answered, thinking that afterglow makes everyone look good. Bashir had been especially amorous that morning, but no reason his visitor would or should know that. "How may I serve you?" he asked blandly.

"Ah, such professionalism, Mr. Garak," Hobie drawled. "You break my heart with your total lack of interest in me. And just now I've been so busy looking up your old friends on Cardassia and giving them your regards." He adjusted the file case under his arm. "Why, just a week or so ago, two more of them were in the news notices," he added, oh so innocently.

Garak made a mental note to check the Cardassian death notices database the first moment he was alone. "Ah, how nice to have news of old friends," he said vaguely, totting up: nine of the ten responsible for his exile were dead. He didn't even bother to hide the serene smile that crossed his face as he gazed pleasantly at his would-be lover.

"Yes, Mr. Garak," Hobie said coolly. "Legate Xriet feels just the same way and has made this very clear to me, as well as Rezdi and several others involved in this rather frustrating courtship."

"Captain Talljet, I believe I have made if quite clear to Rezdi several times that I have nothing more to say to Legate Xriet." Garak pressed the 'save and tally' button on his accounting program. "I would like to think that you were subtle enough to understand that I have nothing further to say to you, as well."

"Oh, Mr. Garak, rip out my tender feelings for you and stomp on them," Hobie said sarcastically. "After all we've done for you!"

"The list?" Garak watched Hobie nod. "Then you're an ass as well as a fool, Captain Talljet. To make such an offer when it's plain as day that I am not at all interested in you," he said coldly, tired of fencing. "And that you have actually put any effort into it... What are you laughing at?"

"I've never been rebuffed quite so rudely," Talljet admitted. "I'm rather enjoying the abuse. Perhaps I've become a masochist," he mused. "Why don't you marry me and save me from these creeping tendencies?" Hobie met Garak's stony stare with an amused one of his own. "Rezdi said you were considering adding Xriet to your list. Are you?"

"Perhaps."

Hobie narrowed his eyes and tried to read the Cardie's telefield and couldn't. Not only was it as much of a chaotic mess as any other of the species, Garak was very pointedly thinking about the numbers he'd just tallied up. Hobie decided that this was a Cardassian version of shielding. "Xriet still loves you, Mr. Garak," he said slowly. "This is making him difficult to deal with."

"Then don't deal with him."

"That is easier said than done, sir," Hobie said. "Xriet is now one of the most powerful men in the empire. He's a force unto himself; or have you forgotten him already?"

"Of course I've forgotten him. In the same way he's forgotten me until your people brought me to his attention again." Garak stepped around Hobie to straighten a display, hoping his guest would take the hint and leave.

"It's easier to forget someone you never loved."

Garak took a moment to let the rage this truth aroused in him subside. "You know nothing about it, Captain Talljet," he said. "But it's all in the past and the past is over and done with."

"The past is never over and done," Hobie said. "It's not even in the past."

In an effort to decipher this strange remark, Garak turned to survey the pirate. He met Hobie's unreadable stare and said, "Nonsense," and turned away again.

"Yeah, maybe," Hobie sighed. "Love is vastly overrated for people of our age. Leave it to the young, like Dr. Bashir. I'm sure he still believes in love and its miraculous healing properties."

"Why do you mention Bashir?" Garak felt a chill run up his spine.

"Oh, Rezdi and Catanya like him very much," Hobie told him. "They think you two make a nice couple. They actually spent an hour or so trying to convince me to veer off and let you be. Oh, nice suit Cat got here; worth every credit Neria paid for it."

"Will you veer off?"

"I might," Hobie said. "But I've got to make it look like I made a decent effort to get you."

"Why?" Garak's suspicions were aroused.

"So, I won't be accused of trifling with you again."

"Who accused you of that?"

"EO."

"Oh." Garak thought about this. "I thought I made it clear to Mr. EO that I was not interested in you."

"When did you do this?"

"At the qwooba hunt. He asked me what I thought of you."

"And you said?"

"I thought you were very... tall." He listened to Hobie laugh. "EO didn't tell you this?"

"EO's been busy with another deal for us," Hobie said. "I think he thinks you're being coy and he's letting you simmer for awhile."

Garak sighed and looked at Hobie with as much sincerity as he looked at anyone. "Captain Talljet, I don't know what we've been doing but can we please be done with it?"

"I'm worried about Zbricacolvir," Hobie said flatly.

"I understand that if you lose interest, he will, too."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'm surrounded by Starfleet personnel," Garak said. "I hardly think he'd try to carry me off, if that's what you're worried about."

"Well, Zbricacolvir has done crazier things than that." Hobie watched Garak's eyes widen in alarm. "But, between Maja sending those diamonds back via Federation Express with a strongly worded note, and the news that I'm losing interest; that should cool his engines."

"I do hope so," Garak said briskly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a business to run. Good day."

"Have lunch with me?"

"I'm already engaged to lunch with Dr. Bashir."

"Oh, well, I certainly wouldn't want to interfere with your lunch with Bashir, whom you see everyday and night." Hobie smiled wickedly. "After all, I'm just a transient messenger boy you reject and abuse for your own amusement."

"Have you met Constable Odo, Captain Talljet?" Garak asked, exasperated at last.

"Jir's buddy? No I've never had the pleasure." Talljet opened the document case he was holding. "Oh that reminds me... We've managed our other foolish offer on Csirra II." He held out a translucent disk with a subcutaneous data chip on it and a Cardassian government document reader. "You can have Bashir implant the chip in your wrist next time you two play doctor."

Garak took the disk and reader from him. He slowly turned the disk in the light until the holographic citizenship data for Elim Garak appeared on the Cardassian passport. The data chip would contain the same information in a bio-scannable format.

Not trusting his eyes, Garak clicked on the reader and read his statistics in the Cardassian citizen database. Previously, everything about him had been removed from the accessible records, this much Xriet had been able to tell him. It now appeared the events of his official existence had continued to be recorded: a classified assignment to Terok Nor, a fabricated request to remain after the station became DS9, his retirement from the Cardassian Ministry of Information, a pension paid into a bank account all these years and an address on one of the more remote Cardassian colonies.

Wondering if the Talljets or the Cardassians had created this unlived life for him, he looked up at Hobie with stunned eyes.

"You can go home now," Hobie said gently. "If you want."

A wave of euphoria surged though Garak and he swayed softly; right into Hobie's arms. As they were so close it seemed natural to the newly instated Cardassian citizen to kiss the messenger of such good news.

They were still locked in this clinch when Kira stormed in to escort Garak to Ops. "It's urgent," she snarled, ignoring Garak's bruised lips and flushed cheeks. "Let's go."

"Have lunch with me when you're done?" Hobie whispered as Garak put the document reader, passport and chip in his cash drawer and locked it.

"No."

"How cruel you are to me, Mr. Garak." Hobie smiled at Kira's furious scowl.

"Yes." Garak locked his shop and followed Kira to Ops. His feet hardly touched the decks, but even he felt that was cliche. A little ahead of him, Kira seemed to have turned to stone, so he didn't even try to make pleasant conversation with her on the way to Ops. She entered Sisko's office first and so Garak did not see Xriet until he was in the Legate's arms.

"Elim," Xriet whispered, swooping down to cover Garak's lips with his own.

Garak had a nanosecond to register Sisko's shock, Dax's interest and notice Kira's rage impossibly increase before he was engulfed and overwhelmed. There was no resistance possible in Xriet's embrace, nor was there even the slightest wish for it. So, Garak did what was wise, desirable and usual: he surrendered and enjoyed. "What are you doing here, Tirn?" he whispered when Xriet let him up for air.

"I bring you excellent news, Elim." Xriet held Garak a little away so he could admire him. "You are restored to Cardassia," he announced, and then waited for him to faint with joy.

"Really?" Garak seemed more puzzled than elated.

"Yes, really." Xriet nodded, trying to find some, any, clues in Garak's bland face. "You don't seem very happy about it."

"Oh, but I am, Tirn," Garak assured him. "I'm delighted."

"Are you?"

Before Garak could answer Sisko cleared his throat very loudly. "If you've concluded your business with Mr. Garak, Legate," he said calmly. "I have other uses for my office than your reunion."

Xriet recalled himself to his surroundings. "Yes, thank you, Captain Sisko. Very kind of you to let me meet Elim in your office," he said urbanely and turned to Garak. "Come, let's go somewhere quiet, where we talk and relax." He nodded again at Sisko, ignoring Dax and Kira, and swept Garak out of Ops.

Sisko scowled at the closed door and commented that he thought Xriet might have better taste than Garak.

"I think Garak's charm is lost on you, Benjamin," Dax observed.

"It's not lost on Hobie Talljet," Kira said, and related the scene she'd come upon when she was sent to fetch Garak to Ops.

"Look, Tirn, I'll close the shop for the day and we'll talk," Garak said as they hurried down the Promenade. "It will only take a moment."

"I'll wait for you at Quark's," Xriet said.

"Well, no, it will..."

"No, I'll wait at Quark's. I'd like to see how the place has changed."

This would not do. Garak was meeting Bashir at Quark's for lunch. "Wouldn't you like to see the shop?" he asked, concealing his anxiety as best he could.

"Of course, darling." Xriet stood indulgently by while Garak opened up. "Very nice," he said, sticking his head in and looking around. "I'll be in Quark's." He left as Commander Memphis came in to pick up a jacket he'd ordered.

"I'm sorry, I'm closed, Johnny," Garak said as politely as he could manage.

"I'm sorry, my ship leaves in an hour, Elim," Memphis said firmly. "Was that really Legate Xriet?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Cursing retail, Garak said, "yes," and darted in to the back to find Memphis' jacket and try to comm Bashir before he left the Infirmary.

"So, Quark, overcharge me for something so I can lock my lips on yours again," Hobie teased as he leaned over the bar.

"What'll you have, Talljet?" Quark ignored him; a customer is a customer.

"What kinds of champagne you do stock?" Hobie asked. "And not replicated, please." He listened to Quark rattle off names and prices and chose the most expensive one. "Can I run a tab while I'm here?" he asked, presenting his Federation Monetary Exchange of Vulcan, Talljet Ltd. credit chip.

"Of course." Quark happily processed the chip and poured the champagne.

"Any chance of getting a glass of that, Quark?"

"Gul Xriet!" the Ferengi was delighted to see his old customer. "Or is it Legate?" he asked, examining the Cardassian insignia.

"It is." Xriet smiled and turned to Hobie. "Hullo, Talljet. What brings you out this way?"

"I'm falling in love with Quark. You?" Hobie was not pleased to see the Legate. Scanning the Cardassian's jumbled telefields was a waste of time so all he could do was wait and hope the timing of Xriet's visit was just a fluke or something. He told Quark to bring the Legate a glass and leave the bottle nearby.

"Oh, just passing through," Xriet drawled. "Such a pleasant game of bridge we had with Rezdi and Catanya the other evening."

"Yes, we so enjoyed your hospitality, Xriet," Hobie drawled back. "Such a charming woman, your wife, if rather retiring."

"As all good Cardassian wives are," Xriet said coolly. "Retiring and obedient."

"Ah," Hobie observed.

They sipped their champagne in silence.

"Hello, Captain Talljet. I wasn't expecting to see you here." Bashir had come up to the bar, greeted Quark and made eye contact with Xriet, whom he did not know.

"Oh, hullo, Bashir. Have some champagne." Hobie asked Quark for another glass, nodded pleasantly at Bashir's thanks and introduced him to Xriet. He had a moment's wonder that Bashir didn't know who Xriet was.

"Ba-shir." Xriet let the sounds roll from his chest and out of his mouth in a long, deadly sigh. "I believe we have something in common."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Elim Garak," the Legate leered. "I understand you've succeeded me in his bed."

"Have I?" Bashir was doing his best to hide his shock. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Quark tense up, but kept his attention on Xriet.

"Of course. You could never replace me there, merely succeed me." Xriet seemed bored with the conversations and, drinking his champagne, affected to ignore the Terran.

"Well, since I've never heard of you," Bashir said nonchalantly. "I rather suppose I have replaced you."

Hobie had the barest second to jerk the fool human out of the way before Xriet's blow broke his fool neck. There was a nasty crack as Hobie's jaw stopped the Cardassian's fist and they both recoiled in pain: Xriet trying to shake the pain out of his hand and Hobie clasping his free hand to his throbbing chin. His other hand was locked on Bashir's arm and was holding the doctor behind him, out of Xriet's striking range. The Legate and the pirate both called for ice, which Quark quickly brought.

Garak missed Bashir in the infirmary and hurried through his transaction with Memphis.

"What's the rush, Elim?" Memphis asked good-naturedly.

"I'm late for a lunch date," Garak said vaguely, locking his shop and hoping he could catch Julian before he got to Quark's.

"Xriet, Talljet or Bashir?" Memphis asked.

"Bashir," Garak answered, wondering briefly how well informed Memphis was and why he was so well informed. "I thought you had things to do?" he said to the Commander, who was keeping pace with him.

"Oh, I'll just have a quick one at Quark's before I go," Memphis said. "One for the road before I rendezvous with Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich."

"He's not coming here, is he?" Garak asked.

"'Fraid so," Memphis said. "Too bad you don't like him; Elim, he seems to want to spend so much time with you."

Garak nodded at his customer's irony and slowed at the bar's entrance when he saw his former lover, his current lover and his would-be lover standing together, drinking at the bar. He was composing his thoughts when Xriet swung at Bashir and, leaving his thoughts in disarray, rushed up to put himself between Bashir and Xriet. It was necessary to push Hobie out of the way to do this.

Applying an ice pack to his aching jaw with one hand, Hobie activated his communicator with the other and asked Djerian to come to Quark's and fix him up.

"Not that I mind you finding solace in my absence, Elim," Xriet said arrogantly. "But I find it disturbing that you would indulge such a decadent weakling human. I realize that you were not likely to find anyone comparable to me, however, you might have at least tried to keep your standards up. Even Dukat would have been a better choice."

"I shall tell that to Dukat next time I see him, Tirn." Garak kept his voice bland and nudged Bashir, who wanted to know who the hell this old Cardie was, to be quiet.

"I hope you will, Elim," Xriet said, eyeing Bashir. "I realize you fell on hard times when I left you here, but to sink to this level. Why, even Talljet would be a better companion for you than that." He gestured at the doctor.

"I am very tired of hearing you insulted, Elim," Bashir hissed and tried to break Garak's grip on his arm.

Garak turned his head and looked into Hobie's eyes. "Do something," he pleaded softly.

"Right." Hobie finished his drink and took Bashir by the arm. "I believe there is something very wrong with my jaw that requires medical attention," he said, through clenched teeth, dragging the struggling human out of Quark's.

"A little champagne before we retire to your quarters, Elim?" Xriet tenderly asked. Now that his rivals were gone, he could be tender again.

"Yes, please." Garak leaned heavily on the bar and clinked glasses with him.

"Let me go! I am not a child," Bashir whined.

"Well, that's good," Hobie gritted out. He was still pressing the ice pack to his jaw and moving it to speak was painful.

"I suppose you know what all that was about in Quark's," Bashir said, sullen that he'd been dragged off. The least Talljet could have done was drag Garak off with him so he could yell at his lover for not telling him about Xriet.

"Not really, I was thinking of paying TZ a call," Hobie said, jaw immobile. Keeping a firm grip on the doctor, he waved Djerian over.

"What have you done now?" Djerian asked after he'd said hello to 'Dr. Busher'.

"It wasn't my idea to break my jaw," Hobie said, catching Bashir's sullenness. "Come help me butter up TZ, I have some questions about the past for him."

"Good luck with that, Hobie," Djerian warned. "You know TZ hardly admits there is a past, let alone discusses it."

"That's why I need all your and Bashir's charm." Hobie led them to ThiaZole's treatment room. "'With client, call back'," he read the announcement on the door panel. He shrugged and rang the door chime anyway. There was no answer. He rang again.

"I think that will just make him angry, Hobie," Djerian warned.

"An angry TZ is a beautiful thing," Hobie sighed and raised his fist to bang on the door.

"I have a better idea," Bashir said. He used his medical override command and the door obediently slid open.

"Get out," ThiaZole said, over Dukat's back.

"I have to talk to you, TZ," Hobie said firmly.

"Get out."

"No, really..."

"Get out."

"I think this is important, TZ." Djerian decided to help Hobie out a little.

"How so?" TZ asked.

"I've no idea," Djerian mumbled. "But it must be."

"Get out."

"Look, TZ..." Hobie began.

"What's wrong with your jaw, pirate?" ThiaZole asked as he continued to work on Dukat's shoulders.

"Xriet hit me."

"If you want it fixed, have Djerian do it," TZ said. "He's still an empath."

"Why did Xriet hit you?" Dukat asked.

"He was aiming at me," Bashir told him.

"Why?" ThiaZole asked and stopped working on Dukat as he listened impassively to Bashir recount the scene in Quark's bar. "This is not amusing, Gul Dukat," he said to the laughing Cardassian on the table. "I would say, Dr. Bashir, that you have not replaced Xriet in Garak's life, nor have you succeeded him; you have surpassed him. Xriet chose Garak, but Garak chose you; very different. It does not surprise me that Xriet is jealous."

"Xriet would disagree," Dukat said. "To this day he thinks Garak loved him."

"Garak needed his protection and learned to be fond of him." ThiaZole began to work on Dukat's left arm.

"A true whore's response."

"I'm sure you know more about that than I do, Gul Dukat," ThiaZole said blandly. "Whatever. Garak had about as much choice in the matter as a Bajoran comfort woman. Since you were unable or unwilling to control your men, it was necessary for Garak to accept some kind of shelter from the constant threat of violence."

"What are you talking about?" Bashir asked.

"Garak was attacked, beaten and almost raped here once, Dr. Bashir," TZ said blandly.

"More than once," Dukat said.

"What?" TZ asked. He looked up as Quark came in.

"Out, Ferengi," Dukat ordered, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around his nakedness.

"Is this true, Quark?" TZ asked.

"What?" Quark asked, glancing at Bashir's shocked face.

"That Garak was attacked here more than once," the masseur said.

"I think so; I only overheard some talk in the bar."

"And you didn't tell me?" TZ seemed to have turned to stone.

"What could you do, ThiaZole? It had already happened." Quark shrugged.

"When, Quark? Before or after the time I intervened," ThiaZole rapped out.

"Before. I think two or three times."

"Only twice," Dukat said. "A beating and a rape, which included a beating to subdue him."

Cvomi speed even made Phols uncomfortable so Djerian winced almost as badly as the rest when ThiaZole's hand flashed out and took a firm grip on Dukat's lower lip.

"And you just let it happen, didn't you, Dukat?" TZ sighed, turning the Gul to face him. He pinched a little harder when his victim tried to struggle. "Do you want to keep both your lips?" the masseur asked coldly. "Were you hoping your men would kill him in one of the attacks? So you would no longer be responsible for a friendless and despised member of your own species?" He jerked Dukat's head up and down, "Is that a yes?" and side to side, "Or a no?" And then, much to everyone's relief, let the Cardie go. "Get dressed and get out," he said, putting his oils away as Dukat went behind the screen to dress.

Quark took a deep breath. "Dr. Bashir, you can't blame Garak for making the best of a bad situation."

"And live to tell the tale," Djerian added.

"If one insists on living," Dukat said, fully dressed and coming from behind the screen.

"Should he have died of shame, Gul?" Djerian asked.

"Yes."

"Get out, Dukat," ThiaZole said without turning around.

"Bill me for the half massage, ThiaZole," Dukat snarled on his way out.

"In hell," TZ muttered. He turned his head to meet Bashir's eye. "Has Garak's virtue been properly restored for you, Bashir?"

"I never... doubted...," Bashir faltered. "He might have told me."

"He was ashamed," ThiaZole sighed. "How sad that one of the conditions for being ashamed is being alive." He watched Bashir fidget under his gaze and then looked at Hobie. "Get what you came for, pirate?" he snarled.

"And more than I bargained for," Hobie said sadly. "Thanks, TZ, we will trouble you no further."

"Good." ThiaZole went into his private quarters without seeing his visitors out.

"Where is Garak?" Bashir asked when they were on the Promenade.

"With Xriet," Quark told him. "And you'd better let Garak handle this; he knows Xriet better than you two do." He went back to tend his bar.

Djerian laid a healing hand on Hobie's jaw and frowned at the transient pain. He turned to the human and said, "Damn, that blow would have killed you, Dr. Busher."

"Yes," Julian said and looked at Hobie. "Thanks."

"Oh, you're welcome."

Bashir returned to the Infirmary and left them standing outside Garak's shop.

"Do you think TZ is in love with Garak?" Hobie asked.

"No," Djerian said after a moment's thought. "I think he saw him as a wounded creature that needed help. Garak has changed; he's more like the Terrans he lives among now. He's not quite the remorseless, cold, hard man he was when I first saw him. I think loving and being loved by Busher has done that."

"And you don't think I should screw that up by marrying him?" Hobie asked.

"I think he'd be a calming influence on you," Djerian said carefully. "I doubt he'd inspire much compassion in you, Captain Talljet, since he's still learning it from Dr. Busher."

"Djerian, it's 'Bashir'."

"What is?"

Garak dragged himself out of bed to answer the door. He was bruised, bitten and completely satiated in a way he had not been since Xriet said good-bye to him on Terok Nor. Pulling on a robe, he kicked his discarded clothing out of his way. Xriet had allowed the tailor to lock the door and then flung himself on him. Garak had not exactly dodged the lunge and was carried into his own bedroom, stripped and ravished. Several times; Xriet definitely still had it. Or perhaps he'd been saving it all these years; Garak did not know. Or care. The sex was all consuming and overwhelming and wonderful.

Much as he loved Bashir there was no comparing them. The kind of love he'd just made with Xriet would have put the good doctor in the Infirmary for a week. As it was, Garak was looking forward to a hot shower and a session with the dermal regenerator he kept on hand (usually for Bashir when they got carried away).

Before he could answer it, the door slid open and Hobie Talljet sauntered in. "My, my, Mr. Garak," he drawled. "You do look, ah, relaxed."

Garak sighed and asked him how he got his door code.

"From Jir. He got it from your telefield when you danced with him," Hobie said, admiring the tasteful arrangement of Garak's parlor. "You should have changed it after he left."

"That seems paranoid to me."

"Even paranoids have enemies, Mr. Garak." Hobie leaned close and sniffed. "Do you smell of blood, cum or sweat mostly? I'm still learning about Cardassians."

Too mellow with afterglow to get angry, Garak merely said it was probably all three and asked Talljet what he wanted and when he was leaving.

"To fix you up and then I'm leaving," Hobie said, suggesting that he go take a hot shower while he made the bed.

"Why?" Garak asked.

"Because it's a disaster," Hobie said, surveying the ravaged bed and surroundings. "And, also, I prophesy that you have a busy afternoon ahead of you."

"How so?"

"Wiskott-Aldrich is meeting with Xriet right now and Dr. Bashir's shift ends in less than an hour and, of course, I'm still here. Go bathe; sooner started, sooner done." Hobie turned and began tossing linens and clothes into separate piles.

The shower soothed Garak's aching muscles and refreshed him. He wasn't sure he wanted Hobie to 'fix him up' but he did recall that Djerian's healing touch had been lovely. Perhaps Hobie would call Djerian to work on him. But, then again, he didn't think he was up to Djerian's dry scrutiny. He thought he'd feel better with Hobie's blunt earthiness and curiosity. He toweled his hair dry and put on a fresh robe.

His bedroom was tidy: his clothes were hung up, shoes lined up, fresh bed coverings turned down invitingly. Garak gave the bed a long, wistful look and was glad Hobie was in the other room.

"Are you writing poetry in there, Mr. Garak?" Hobie asked briskly. "Come on; time's a wasting."

"You're in a hurry, Captain Talljet."

"Yes; humor me and sit here." Hobie waved him into a chair at the table.

This seemed to Garak a very safe distance from any furniture they could get horizontal on. Of course he had made love on the table, but Talljet seemed merely intent on healing his various bruises, lacerations and tiny tears. He felt the pirate wince a time or two and thought that there must be many and fine gradations of finesse in empathic healers and healings. Where Djerian almost made it a dance; Hobie seemed to be marching his body tissues back to their pre-Xriet state. Brisk, efficient and thorough; Talljet ordered him up and to dress. Post-Xriet passivity and a desire not to think too much made it easy for Garak to obey.

He chose a charcoal gray suit lined in cobalt blue silk, with a high-necked tunic in a heavier silk in the same blue. The suit jacket fastenings were in Rzirain silver, inlaid with a dull blue-black stone, and had originally adorned a gift from Xriet.

Talljet turned from the Cardassian old master painting he was contemplating. "You look quite charming dressed like that, Mr. Garak," he told him, with genuine admiration in his voice. "Do you like these?" he waved at the three paintings.

"Yes, very much." Garak sat on the couch in front of one of them. "Didn't I thank you?"

"Yes, but I never knew if you liked them."

"I do." Garak switched his gaze to Talljet and waited for what the pirate was going to say.

"I think Xriet is going to try to take you back to Cardassia," Hobie said, sitting next to him.

"We've discussed it and I said I couldn't leave just now," Garak said. "I'm hoping he'll forget about it once he's gone."

"Mr. Garak, do you know why your citizenship was restored?" Hobie asked quietly.

"No." Garak wondered why Hobie was changing the subject. "I assumed it was your doing and Xriet got a hold of it somehow."

"Well, part of it was that nearly all the opposition to your return, ahm, died recently," Hobie said softly. "We Talljets have been making inquiries and discreet pushes wherever and whenever we could, but more than half the battle was won by Xriet. Apparently, once his position was more secure, he never stopped trying to get you back to Cardassia. It was the combination of the three, but mainly Xriet's efforts over the years, that got you that passport. Rezdi and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time to get the physical document." Hobie paused to let this sink in.

"I still don't want to go to Cardassia with Xriet."

"I think you ought to."

"Why?"

"It will make two men very happy."

"You and Xriet?"

"No, Xriet and Wiskott-Aldrich."

"What has Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich got to do with it?" Garak asked.

"Wiskott-Aldrich and Xriet have met several times since he became admiral of this sector," Hobie said. "There might be some kind of deal brewing. I think Wiskott-Aldrich has somehow promised you to Xriet."

"I see the Admiral has overstepped his bounds once again," Garak said with more calm than he felt.

"He always does," Hobie agreed. "But that's how admirals are made: guts, daring and just a dash of arrogant stupidity." He admired Garak's profile for a moment. "Do you want us to get rid of Xriet for you?"

"Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, Captain Talljet?" Garak asked, slyly.

"Well, in your case, Mr. Garak, they're dirty deeds done for free," Hobie said with a smile. "Do you want him gone?"

"No."

"Will you go with him?"

"Yes. But only for a visit," Garak said. "There is something you can do for me, Talljet."

"Anything."

"Send a ship to Cardassia for me."

"When?"

"A week; no, perhaps two weeks. I don't know," Garak faltered.

"Are you sure you'll want to come back?"

"I think so; I don't know."

Hobie fished in his pocket and handed him a small, flat, metallic rectangle. "This is my communicator," he said, pressing it into Garak's palm. "Slide this panel back and put your thumb over the light and you'll be in touch with me or Neria or Djerian in an instant. Let us know when you want to come back and we'll send our fastest ship."

The device was tiny and lightweight; it could be sewn into a seam or slipped into a reader case or any number of convenient hiding places. "What if I lose it?" Garak asked.

"Rezdi is on Cardassia quite a lot these days. If we don't hear from you in two weeks, he'll come find you," Hobie assure him. "And I'm sure Dr. Bashir will be right behind him; if not before him."

"Gul! How am I going to explain this to Bashir?"

"Haven't you told him how you long for your home?"

"Of course."

"Then, would he deny you the joy of seeing it again? If only for a visit?"

"With Xriet?"

"I think Bashir might like Xriet a little more now than he did earlier." Hobie rose from the couch and put a respectable distance between himself and the Cardassian.

Garak was puzzling over this move when Bashir rang the bell and then bounded in.

The Terran waved at Hobie and then threw himself at Garak's feet, demanding to know why Garak had never told him of his life on Terok Nor.

"You never asked me," Garak said, blandly. He stroked Bashir's hair and asked, "What brought this on, Julian?"

"We asked ThiaZole about you and Xriet," Hobie said.

"Oh? What did he say? 'I never discuss my clients.'" Garak chuckled.

"He threatened to tear Dukat's lower lip off," Bashir said.

"Why ever?" Garak asked. He was surprised; Dukat was one of ThiaZole's better customers.

"Because Dukat never told him that you were... attacked more than once on Terok Nor before you accepted Xriet's protection," Bashir said. "You never told me how you suffered here, Elim."

"I wanted the past to stay in the past, my dear," Garak said softly. "But it never does, does it?"

Bashir pulled himself up onto the couch and put his arms around his lover. "I'm not afraid of the past," he whispered.

"Depends on the past," Hobie said, stepping forward and drew Bashir away from Garak. "I hear some rather big past coming right now."

"Xriet and Wiskott-Aldrich?" Garak guessed.

"Aye." Hobie grinned. "Have you got second sight, too, Cardassian?"

"No, but the timing is about right," Garak rose and smoothed his suit.

"We'll be cowering in your bedroom until they're gone, Mr. Garak," he said, towing Bashir down the hallway.

Wondering what fresh hell Wiskott-Aldrich was up to, Garak called, "Come," when the door chimed. He stood, composed as ever, watching the Admiral and the Legate come in together.

Xriet swept the tailor up in a passionate kiss as Wiskott-Aldrich looked on. "You must come to Cardassia with me, Elim," the Legate insisted, coming up for air. "Even Cyril agrees."

"Indeed I do," Wiskott-Aldrich said, amused. "I feel honored to witness such a tender reunion. I am deeply surprised you'd not want to visit your home after such as long exile, Mr. Garak."

"I have much to do here, Admiral," Garak said, knowing he had to play hard to get, if only for the sake of form. "I can't simply run off at a moment's notice."

"What keeps you here, Elim?" Xriet asked.

"My business." Garak listened to Xriet's indulgent laugh. "I seldom find it amusing, Tirn, but since the station changed management I've had to make a living as a tailor."

"My dear, you can put all this behind you now and come home," Xriet said.

"Yes, Tirn, but I have an entire life here to pack up, a business to sell, rents to pay and various other expenses..."

"I think the station could probably help you with the rents part," Wiskott-Aldrich assured him.

"How much help, Admiral?" Garak asked.

"Three months?"

"Shop and quarters?"

"Of course."

Garak turned back to Xriet. "I will have to come back."

"Of course," Xriet agreed, pleasantly, thinking he'd be able to delay his lover's return indefinitely.

"Then I'll be going," Wiskott-Aldrich drawled and left them.

"I don't like to hear you haggle, Elim," Xriet said when they were alone.

"I don't like haggling, Tirn, but it's become a necessary skill."

"Those days are over, Elim," Xriet said, picking him up and carrying him down the hallway.

"Shit! Why didn't we hide in the guest room?!" Hobie hissed at Bashir and shoved him into Garak's bedroom closet.

"What now?" Bashir whispered.

"We're about to become voyeurs. Shhhh."

They listened to Xriet laughing and Garak protesting as they came into the bedroom.

"Tirn! We hardly have time for this," Garak insisted.

"My ship leaves when I'm ready."

"I have to pack."

"Fine. Later. We'll be quick."

"I don't want to be quick." Garak sat up.

"Fine." Xriet pulled him back down.

"No, I mean I don't want to rush," Garak explained. "I'd rather wait until we're on our way." He blocked Xriet's kiss. "And sooner started; sooner done."

"Ah," the Legate rolled off him and sat at the end of the bed. "Then pack. Do you still have the clothes you used to wear for me? I find your new wardrobe quite boring."

"No," Garak said, straightening his boring suit. "I remade them all into less flamboyant outfits." He opened the closet and looked right into Hobie's eyes. Fortunately, Hobie and Bashir were in the depths of the closet and out of Xriet's view.

"All of them?"

"Yes; all." Garak pulled a case from the shelf.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Garak asked, taking several suits out of the closet and firmly closing the door.

"Why did you remake them?"

"I had to have something to wear." Garak put the case on the bed and the suits into it.

"Did you think I wasn't coming back for you?" Xriet asked.

"Of course I thought you were coming back, Tirn," Garak lied. "I just didn't know when. And I really didn't feel comfortable around the Terrans wearing as much leather and silver as you liked. I did keep one or two outfits." This was true; he'd even worn them for Bashir.

"Well, bring them." Xriet brightened a little.

"They're in storage at the shop." This was not true; Dr. Bashir was actually crushed against one of them at that moment. "It would slow us down to go get them."

"We don't want to slow down, no. I'll get you some new clothes on Cardassia." Xriet stood and drew Garak into his arms.

"Tirn..."

"I never forgot you, Elim."

"I know." Garak smiled sadly at him. "And now I have to finish packing."

"Very well." Xriet released him. "I'll leave you to it. I wanted to look at those paintings in the other room."

"Oh, they're just reproductions," Garak lied to him.

"I thought so. But very nice reproductions."

"Yes." Garak waited long enough for Xriet to be out of earshot and then lunged for the closet. "Get out of my closet," he hissed.

"With pleasure," Hobie hissed back. "Those are *not* reproductions of Cardassian old masters."

Garak, in Bashir's arms, ignored him.

"Elim." Bashir hugged him and kissed him good-bye. "Come back as soon as you can."

"I shall." Garak picked up his bag and left.

Hobie and Bashir stood silently in Garak's bedroom until they heard the tailor and Xriet leave. They waited awhile longer before they left themselves.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Bashir asked as they reached the Promenade.

"Yes." Hobie went back to his ship and asked Neria to locate Rezdi, just in case they needed him.

Garak found Cardassia Prime the same as he'd left it. But he had changed and felt like a stranger in his former home.

He made love to Tirn and enjoyed it very much, although he occasionally wondered where the Legate had put his wife while Garak lived with him. Visiting old acquaintances was unrewarding, even though he had the pleasure of fabricating an intricate web of lies to account for his years of absence. He hid it well, but he was ill at ease with his own past. Garak had to some extent lost the ability to communicate in the subtle innuendo that made up Cardassian conversation. Or perhaps he'd only lost his enthusiasm for such things. Perhaps Bashir's cheerful honesty had ruined him forever; everything else was dark, complicated and dreary beside it.

The food was good, though. But, sooner than he'd thought, Garak had satisfied his appetite, his nostalgia and even his desire for Xriet, and began to long for Bashir as he had longed for Cardassia once. He spent a few moments marveling at his emotions and then opened Hobie's communicator and put his thumb over the light.

As promised, Neria-Tza's voice came over the ether: "Ready to go, Mr. Garak?"

Garak uncurled from Xriet's arms and got out of bed. Restless, he showered and felt more relaxed, but still not sleepy. A glance at the bed told him Xriet was in his usual post-climax stupor. It was a blessing that the Legate insisted on getting Garak off before he fucked him. Otherwise it would all end in frustration and/or resentment.

Garak had enjoyed his time with Xriet but was looking forward to going home. Reminded of Wiskott-Aldrich's mocking words that 'DS9 was no one's home' Garak had to agree with him. DS9 was not his home; Bashir was and that was the home he looked forward to returning to.

But when? Neria had not been able to give him an exact time and Garak had not had time to check back with the pirates. He dug the communicator out of his pocket and opened it. The light was blinking slowly; he'd never seen it do that before. Not knowing what else to do, Garak put his thumb over it and waited.

"Where the hell have you been?" Hobie asked, testily in Klingonese.

"Here and there. In bed, mostly. What do you want?"

"To tell you that Bot is on his way," Hobie replied. "But that was hours ago and he's probably there by now. Are you slipping away in the dead of the Cardassian night or do you want him to fetch you after breakfast?"

Garak smiled at Hobie's thoughtfulness. "After breakfast, if nobody minds," he said. "It will be easier to simply leave Xriet a note."

"Fine. Keep an eye on the communicator," Hobie said. "Bot will contact you if he has any trouble getting past Xriet's people."

"Why would he...?"

"Love makes people do strange things, Mr. Garak, and Xriet is not going to want to let you go." Hobie clicked off.

Garak clicked the communicator closed and wondered if Hobie knew more about Xriet than he did. Hearing his lover moving around, Garak put the communicator in his pocket and returned to the bedroom.

"Come back to bed, Elim," Xriet murmured sleepily.

"Yes." Garak curled beside him and went to sleep.

In the morning they made leisurely love. Perhaps a little too leisurely, Garak thought: the Legate seemed to be in no hurry to climax and get on with his day. Eventually, Xriet finished and rolled off him. Garak picked up his robe and went into the bathroom. The communicator blinked serenely at him and he put his thumb over the light.

"Mr. Garak?" Bot's basso voice vibrated in his hand. "We're in orbit, shall we come down now?"

"I need another hour," Garak whispered.

"We'll see you in an hour then," Bot said, pleasantly and then said good-bye.

Garak put the communicator back in his pocket and took a shower. Xriet joined him there and, as pleasant as that was, it prolonged the shower considerably.

At last they were done; Xriet dressed, kissed him good-bye and left. Garak went into his bedroom and packed in record time. The clothes Xriet bought him were too bulky to pack so he decided to wear the fur coat and was just stuffing the last of the leather trousers into his case when the maid came to tell him Bot Tossaria and SaKosztDeVulCheq were waiting for him in the drawing room. With the Legate. Garak straightened his furs, smoothed his hair and went down to face whatever there was to face.

"Is this true, Elim?" Xriet asked him.

"Is what true, Tirn?"

"That Tossaria and SaKoszt are here to collect you."

"Yes." Garak nodded to the JetCheqs. "It is."

"You might have told me," Xriet scolded.

"You knew I could not stay," Garak said. "And I do hate long good-byes."

"Hmmm." Xriet folded his arms and looked sternly at him.

"And you know as well as I do, Tirn, I cannot stay here with you," Garak continued.

"I don't know that at all," Xriet snapped.

"Well, if you don't, your wife and all of Cardassian society does," Garak said blandly. He glanced at Bot and SaKoszt, who were completely engrossed in looking out the window. "We were lucky on Terok Nor; nobody we cared about was there to be shocked or offended. But here," Garak held his hands out in a helpless gesture. "Eventually there would be a dreadful scandal and neither of us wants that."

"Afraid, are you, Elim?"

"Yes. I'd forgotten how strict our society is. I can't live with you like this; hiding here, never being able to be seen together," Garak said simply. "I can't think of a faster way to kill our love, can you?"

Xriet seemed to be considering this. He drew Garak into his arms and whispered, "Is it Bot Tossaria you're interested in? What is this passion you've developed for younger men, Elim?"

"No, Tirn, it's not Bot; it's not even Talljet." Garak leaned back in his lover's arms. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

"Yes; and though I hate it, I know you're right." Xriet released him. "Don't forget me, Elim, I shall never forget you."

"There will never be another you, Tirn, I promise," Garak assured him. He relaxed in Xriet's arms and was kissed nearly half to death.

Breaking away, Xriet rang for a footman and sent him to get Garak's bag. "I trust you will look after him, Tossaria?" he asked Bot.

"With my life and soul, Legate," Bot blandly replied.

Xriet escorted them to the street, where he looked deeply into Garak's eyes and then walked away without looking back. Garak never saw him again.

"Very kind of you to take the trouble to come for me, Bot," Garak said, sliding into the sleekest, chicest aircar he'd ever seen in his life.

"Nothing is too much trouble for you, Mr. Garak," Bot assured him.

"Yes; even though it's taken us well out of our way and we spent hours killing time in orbit and..." SaKoszt began.

"*Nothing* is too much trouble for you, Mr. Garak," Bot repeated pointedly. "Just ignore SaK; he's a VulCheq and cranky by nature."

"Ah," Garak said, watching the city flash by as they ascended to the orbiting ship.

"Were you surprised to see us with the Legate?" SaK asked.

"Yes, rather. I was hoping to avoid a scene."

"Oh, I thought you did quite well," SaK said. "Of course I didn't hear a word of it."

Garak laughed at the vulcanoids. "Why was he there anyway?"

"He saw us pull up in front and came back to see what the hell we wanted," Bot told him.

"Had you met him before, Bot?" Garak asked.

"No, but I had a full report from Catanya," Bot said. "Really much more information than I'd ever wanted."

Garak wondered if his sudden and extreme interest in what Catanya had said about Xriet was jealousy or simply an intense interest in an interesting subject. He was still pondering this when SaK asked from the back seat what Catanya had said.

"Cat said that Xriet was a decent bridge player and asked him to go to bed with him." Bot was maneuvering the ship into what seemed to be the shell of a slightly larger ship.

"Cat asked Xriet or Xriet asked Cat?" SaK asked.

"The latter," Bot clarified.

"Did he?"

"Did who what?"

"Did Cat sleep with the Legate?"

"He said he didn't, but Catanya and the truth are not best friends."

"So, we can't even be sure Xriet propositioned Catanya in the first place, can we?" Garak asked.

"Quite," SaK agreed.

Bot said, "Hmmmm."

The JetCheqs spent a few moments focused on instrument panels and Garak felt the low hum of powerful engines all around him. "What is this?" he asked.

"Talljet Ltd.'s latest line of reconnaissance fighters," Bot said. "Fast, quiet and hell in a fight if we can't outrun 'em."

"But we can outrun anything we've ever seen," SaK assured him. "Rija and Dobra made sure of that."

"This is a prototype for longer distances," Bot explained as they threaded their way out of the shipping lanes around Cardassian Prime.

"So you can come from a distance, slip quietly down to the planet, have a look around and go home," SaK said.

"Without burning up or running out of fuel before you get there," Bot finished for him. "Do you enjoy space travel, Mr. Garak?"

"Not really." The thought of going into deep space in this tiny ship was making him very nervous.

"Oh? Well, look sharp; we're going into warp," Bot said cheerfully.

Garak closed his eyes and hoped for the best. When he opened them again they were in the total blackness that is warp speed. He'd not felt a thing.

Bot and SaK were politely amused by his nerves and assured him that Hobie would never send them if it were not completely safe. Garak told them he was glad to hear that. They chatted amicably about the qwooba hunt and the JetCheqs even asked after Dr. Bashir's heath and well being. Garak was marveling at their good manners and rather menacing appearances when Bot dropped the ship out of warp and hailed a huge starship in formation with several dozen other huge starships. Moments later a bay door opened and they were docking inside one of the giant ships.

"Where are we?" Garak asked.

"This is the _Tien_," Bot said. "It's my Parent's flagship. We're going in the direction of DS9, so I thought, since it won't be too much of a delay..."

"Or out of our way," SaK chimed in.

"We'd stop and say hello to my Parent and Neria," Bot finished.

"And Djerian," SaK added.

"You don't mind, do you, Mr. Garak?" Bot asked. "I really didn't feel I got to talk to you enough at the qwooba hunt."

"Mind? Not at all," Garak politely assured him. "Another few hours won't make the slightest difference." He hoped.

Once they were secure, Bot and SaK escorted him to the bridge. Garak took off his fur coat as the ship's temperature, set for vulcanoids, was comfortable for him.

"How nice of you to bring GarakFara along, Bot," Hobie said by way of greeting them. "You were willing, I hope, Mr. Garak?" he asked his guest.

"Oh, yes. Immediately upon discovering I was here," Garak said. "I was willing."

"Bot." Hobie looked sternly at his youngest son.

"I don't like to hear the word 'no' any more than you do, ParentFara," Bot said coolly.

"Actually," Garak intervened before Hobie's frown could become serious. "I would like to heal up a little before I return to the station."

"Ah." Hobie said, smiling.

"Good," SaK said. "All is well. Is there a meal coming up soon?"

"All you think about is food, SaK," Hobie scolded.

"I'm afraid I was thinking the same thing," Garak said. "I missed breakfast."

"Oh, we can fix that right away, Mr. Garak. Come along, children." Hobie rose and gave the con to his pilot.

"Is Polmira with you, Captain Talljet?" Garak asked as he led them below decks.

"No, he's playing house with Strig on Vulcan for a few months," Hobie said. "This is a working trip, Mr. Garak, the cargo hulls are full of short-range fighters and spare parts for the Xyicta Confederation's fleet."

"Short-range fighters like the one I came here in?" Garak asked, just to see if he'd get an answer.

"Not as nice, no, but worth every micro-credit they paid for them," Hobie assured him.

"Oh? Do you take Federation currency? Maja seemed to have nothing but doubloons when he visited me." Garak was looking at the art lining the corridors.

"Where Maja travels, the doubloon is the most versatile currency there is." Hobie ushered him into a comfortable salon. "However, my shipyard makes deals with Federation members all the time. Our brokers, Talljet Inc., and lawyers, Talljet and Storen, are on Vulcan, so usually we run the transactions through the Bank of Vulcan. They charge the same as any other Federation bank, and you know the paperwork is in order."

"Yes, the Bank can be annoyingly persnickety on details," SaK said.

"That's why we use them," Hobie said, pulling dishes from replicators and fresh food from the stasis bins. "When we check the math, we know it's going to be right. Wine, Mr. Garak? Something light to go with your breakfast?"

"I prefer tea, if it's no trouble," Garak said, eyeing a Logerian plum.

"We have relan and ijema tea fresh, otherwise it's replicated." Hobie reached for a clunky-looking ceramic teapot.

"Are you having any?" Garak asked Bot.

"Relan," Bot told him. "But I was raised on it."

"Me, too," SaK said. "But it's good; just not very exciting."

"Then I'll have that," Garak said. "I've had enough excitement for one day," he added, with a smile. He stared with frank curiosity at the lumpy and misshapen teapot Hobie put on the table. Waiting until his host sat, he started to ask where it came from.

Hobie held up a hand to forestall the question, and said, "Mraht" and the JetCheqs answered, "AmChiera", before he turned to Garak, "The teapot? Oh, Hraja made it when he could barely walk and then presented it to me with such solemn ceremony you'd think I was the Klingon emperor receiving tribute." He smiled, a genuine smile that momentarily disarmed Garak. "It has much sentimental value, not to mention it makes me laugh."

"I think it's charming, Captain Talljet," Garak said quietly.

"We only use it for family, Mr. Garak," Bot said, with a smile.

"That's because we never entertain on the _Tien_," Hobie said, pouring tea for Garak. "We use the _T'Paga_ if we want to impress someone."

"Is this ship named after your nephew, Tien?" Garak asked.

"It is," Hobie said. "But tien also means victory in old Klingon, so it has positive connotations as well."

"And who is the _T'Paga_ named after?"

"The perfect woman," Hobie said. "We went to school with her on Vulcan. Brave, kind, intelligent; she never let our outcast status on Vulcan stop her from being our friend. And we certainly needed friends on Vulcan."

"We're you outcasts?" Garak asked.

"Very much so, Mr. Garak," Hobie said. "Orphan, alien vulcanoid bastard children, living on charity on the most lineage- and family-oriented planet in the galaxy. We were shunned by proper society; only Sarek and Spock were at all kind to us, and that ended in tears."

"How so, if I may ask?"

"Well, Spock knocked up Maja and then dumped him for Starfleet."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We Talljets are ambisexual, Mr. Garak," Hobie said. "Our Magidrian blood lets us breed by changing to female once in our lives and we can have three sons."

"Is that the minimum?" Garak asked.

"Unless one dies before birthing number two and three son, yes," Hobie laughed. "I mean, the whole point is to get back to being male as soon as possible."

"Is that the most desirable state?"

"Weeeelllll, it's the one we're most used to, I suppose," Hobie mused. "Ling stayed female for more years than the rest of us."

"I even remember that time," SaK said, looking amused. "It was amusing for Stez to have to explain why I used to have a mother but now I have a parent, and why that was a good, if not a wholly logical, thing."

"You want to see a Vulcan squirm, ask him to explain why something is good, if not wholly logical," Hobie laughed. "So, anyway, Spock knocks up Maja and Maja and I left Vulcan because we couldn't stand another moment of the place."

"And was that the same Spock I met at SaRija's house?" Garak asked.

"Yes, the very same," Hobie said.

"I see he and Maja lived happily ever after?" Garak asked.

"After many years and adventures and loves, yes, they ended up with each other," Hobie allowed. "There is no love quite like your first love; they seem happy. I know Maja is happy, and I think Spock is as happy as his Vulcan genes will let him be."

"And what does Tien think?"

"He likes Spock; all the MajaCheqs like Spock," Hobie said. "Can't fathom why."

"All the JetCheqs like Uncle Spock, Mr. Garak," Bot said. "He's all right, even has kind of a wicked sense of humor. And," he leaned conspiratorially toward the Cardassian, "you can always count on Spock for a croquet game. Unlike certain other members of the family."

"I hate croquet, Mr. Garak. I only play in the most dire of straits ," Hobie said, archly and turned to his son. "You wouldn't want me to live a lie, would you, Bot?"

"Heavens no, Parent-olio, I'd never want that," Bot laughed.

Garak was enjoying himself immensely and suffered a tiny pang of guilt that Bashir was not there. Talljet, Bot and SaK were all so good-natured and wickedly witty, the Cardassian spent this very pleasant meal smiling and relaxing. Alas, the meal, like all good things, eventually came to an end.

Bot and SaK cleared the table and discreetly withdrew. Garak was offered and refused more tea.

"Shall I fix you up, Mr. Garak?" Hobie suggested.

"If you would be so kind, Captain Talljet," Garak said, rising and following Hobie to a room. Tossing his coat onto a chair, he noticed his suitcase there and glanced at Hobie.

"Thought you might want to change into something a little less, ah, sexy in the Cardassian style," Hobie smiled. "Before you get home to Bashir. I can't imagine he'd appreciate the terribly attractive outfit you arrived in."

"He'll appreciate it in private, I assure you, Captain Talljet," Garak said, with just a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Ah, well; that's good," Hobie chuckled. "Let's see. Why not take off your boots and relax; the healing is faster and deeper if you're calm."

"I'm quite calm, Captain Talljet," Garak said, sitting and removing his boots.

"That's good," Hobie said, leaning over Garak. "You're wearing too much leather, Mr. Garak," he said, holding out a silky indigo robe to his guest. "D'you mind slipping into this?"

"No, not at all." Garak rose and went into the bathroom to change.

Waiting patiently, Hobie thought such modesty was charming; rather silly in a man of Garak's age and experience, but charming nevertheless. "That rather suits you," he said when Garak emerged in the robe.

"Does it?" Garak smiled

Hobie said, "Yes," and asked to sit on the bed. He ran his hands lightly over Garak's back. "Does Xriet have bruises like these?" he asked.

"No," Garak said, softly. "His bruises are in different places."

"I see." Slowly and carefully Hobie moved hands over the Cardassian's hips and thighs. "Lean back." He drew Garak against his chest and rolled him on his side.

"What are you...?" Garak asked, feeling Hobie's hands on his ass.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Never mind," Garak sighed, feeling the stinging in his rear end abate for the first time since he'd gone off with Xriet. Hobie's touch was relaxing and he simply allowed himself to enjoy it.

Feeling his guest unwind, Hobie chuckled and patted his ass. 'A very fine ass, it is, too,' he thought, amused by Garak's prim resistance melting into such blasé surrender. "Sit up for me, Mr. Garak," he whispered, urging Garak out of his loose embrace, drawing the robe collar down over the Cardassian's shoulders so he could work on the bites and bruises there. "Xriet must have very sharp teeth," Hobie observed, running his fingertips lightly over the bites on Garak's neck ridges.

"He does," Garak agreed, languidly.

"The better to bite you with, eh?"

"Hmmmm. Whatever."

Hobie continued his caress even beyond the healing. After taking a moment to consider whether he should or shouldn't try to seduce Garak, his 'life is short' philosophy kicked in and he lowered his lips to the very tempting neck ridges. His guest relaxed against him and let his head drop onto the pirate's shoulder, thus exposing even more of his lovely neck.

Only being a sentient being, Hobie did not resist the soft, full lips Garak turned toward him. "I imagine you're tired of being passive with Xriet, aren't you?" Hobie whispered, laying him on the coverlet.

"What are you offering me, Captain Talljet?" Garak asked, undoing the collar of Hobie's shirt.

"Anything you want, Mr. Garak." Hobie was shrugging out of his clothes as quickly as he could.

"Something," Garak sighed, maneuvering them into a sixty-nine. "A bit more egalitarian."

"Captain Talljet..."

"I think you can and should call me Hobie now, Mr. Garak." The MageCheq listened to Garak sigh and said, "May I call you Garak? I don't think Elim suits you very well and I'm sure Bashir is the only one who calls you that now."

"Xriet does and one or two other Cardassians I doubt I'll ever see again." Garak rolled onto his back and looked up at Hobie. "Why don't you think it suits me?"

"Too soft; too mellow, and I think you're neither of those things." Hobie ran his hand over Garak's breastplate. "Or perhaps I don't feel comfortable calling you Elim because I don't see the soft and mellow side of you."

"I've no reason to show it to you, Hobie."

"No, I suppose not." Hobie stroked Garak's neckridges. "Xriet found you when you were vulnerable and you really love Bashir, don't you? So, they'd have a right to call you Elim; something I don't have."

"I understand Xriet and Bashir and, in many ways, different ways, trust them," Garak admitted. "I don't understand or trust you."

"I've told you why I want you."

"And, although you lie beautifully, I don't believe a word of it," Garak laughed. "I can hardly be soft and mellow and keep my guard up at the same time."

"And yet you're in bed with me," Hobie said, pulling him close. "There must be some kind of trust and understanding in that."

"Oh, I agree that this romp has been amusing, but neither cosmic or significant for either of us," Garak said in a business-like voice. "As far as sentimental value, we could have played croquet and gotten the same benefit."

"Hmmm; possibly. I find croquet more frustrating and less neurologically stimulating," Hobie said. "Shall we play croquet and compare the experiences?"

"I'd rather stay in bed, if you don't mind."

"Oh, I don't mind at all, Garak."

"What attracts you to Bashir?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to know why I didn't get you and he did."

"Because you don't really want me."

"Of course I do!"

"Ah, if only I were naïve enough to believe that."

Hobie laughed. "Well, you're hardly naïve, Garak. If I thought you were, I could understand your attraction to Bashir instead of me."

"I'm used to Bashir."

"Oh, come now. I'm not naïve either."

"I love him."

"Ah, The Truth, at last! But why?"

"Are you so sure that was 'The Truth'?"

"Let us call it 'A Truth', shall we?" Hobie reached over to smooth Garak's hair. "Why do you love him and not me?"

"Oh, several reasons; all of them good," Garak said, knowing it didn't matter what he said to Hobie. After this visit, he'd never see him again, so he had nothing to lose. "Unlike you, Bashir is not jaded, cynical or cruel." However, he had not considered that he might hit a nerve.

There was a tense silence; the kind that goes on when a major examination of what has just been said is in progress. At last Hobie said, quietly, "I'm not jaded or cynical or cruel, Garak, I'm just a realist. Outside of the Federation's fantasies, the galaxy does not run on love, it's kill or be killed. Only the strong flourish and if we flourish enough, we might be able to foster a little beauty and intelligence here and there. As a Cardassian, you should know this. If you've forgotten, you could ask the Bajorans."

"How gracious of you, Hobie; first you seduce me, then you insult me."

"You've been with the Terrans too long if you find reality insulting."

"Your reality is insulting."

"Then you deserve Bashir. Enjoy his mercy, his pity, his faith in the Federation. The same Federation that is hypocritical enough to use him, but not allow him back into the heart of it."

"I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about." Garak started to rise but a commanding hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"You were there the night Rubicion and Doxoru visited him," Hobie said. "You know Bashir is genetically enhanced and that this so frightens the Federation, there are shoot to kill orders on all GEs if they're found in restricted space."

"So? It's a big galaxy, Hobie, there are plenty of places for Bashir."

"Yes. Big galaxy; room for everyone," Hobie said, bitterly. "And yet, Bashir will never see his home again."

"We'll make a new one."

"And even if Bashir could go home," Hobie continued. "How much or how long would the loving, generous, accepting, all embracing Federation tolerate you, his Cardassian lover?"

Garak sighed. "I never answer hypothetical questions, Hobie. I find them annoying, futile and banal."

"Touché, Garak."

They lay quietly, letting the dust settle for awhile.

"Are you really insulted, Garak?" Hobie asked at length.

"By which?"

"The Bajorans; I thought that was the meanest thing I said."

"No, I've had the Bajorans thrown in my face so often, I am numb to it." Garak looked at Hobie, who was studying him. "And, as you say, where the strong flourish, the weak usually don't."

"So, no remorse; no regrets?"

"Now or during the Occupation?"

"During the Occupation."

"I'm Cardassian, it never occurred to me there was anything wrong with taking Bajor," Garak admitted. "It was there to be taken; we took it. My biggest regret is that we lost it."

"A patriot even in disgrace and exile."

"Cardassia was my entire life; even when I was nothing to Cardassia, Cardassia was still Cardassia."

"And now?"

"Cardassia is still Cardassia."

"I meant, about Bajor. What do you think now?"

"I have been among the Terrans long enough to pick up some of their folklore," Garak sighed. "The saying 'Don't do to others what you would not like them to do to you' has come to haunt me. I don't know what is worse: that the State could have colonized Bajor more gently and did not, or that the idea simply never occurred to them."

"I'm sorry, Garak," Hobie said softly, after a silence. "It's a hell to question the certainties of a lifetime. It's like the foundation of your being is pulled from beneath you and, all of a sudden, you have to learn to fly or smash into the ground."

"I have Bashir's innocence to console me."

"Even though he's been exiled by the very people who profess the 'don't do to others etc' creed with one side of their mouth and damn him with the other?"

"That was the poor decision of a few misguided people," Garak said firmly. "The larger 'don't do to others etc.' idea is still valid."

"And couldn't the Bajoran Occupation have been the poor decision of a few misguided people?" Hobie asked.

"No. All of Cardassian philosophy supports what happened on Bajor: obey the State, do not question the State, do not think independently of the State."

"And if you don't do those things?"

"A painful death is usually the very next thing," Garak said. "Or, worse, as you said, the foundations of one's being are swept away and replaced... with what? Regret? Remorse? Oblivion?"

"Compassion? Clarity? Love?"

Garak heard, but ignored, this. "And if my people had or would ever ask themselves how they would feel if what happened to Bajor, and elsewhere, happened to them... I'm sure the entire society would collapse in an instant. And that's the fear, I suppose, the unknown; having to pull ourselves out of nothingness when all our certainties are gone. Much too frightening to even think about, really."

"Yes. That's probably why Cardassia hasn't learned anything from losing Bajor." Hobie lay staring at the ceiling. "They blame it all on the Federation chasing them off. As if the Bajorans wanted the Cardies to stay and the Federation chased them off when everyone was having so much fun."

"We are not good at learning from our mistakes, Hobie."

"Or evaluating the merits of your behavior, no, not as a species or a State, but you seem to be doing just that, Garak," Hobie said seriously. "That should give you some hope for your people."

"A foolish hope, Hobie," Garak said, coolly. "Since to attain this exalted state, my entire species would have to fall in love with Julian Bashir."

"Ah, well," Hobie sighed in surrender. "As Terrans go, I guess you've picked a good one."

"Yes, I think so."

"So, if you're so in love with him, why are you in bed with me?" Hobie asked a moment later.

"I was curious." Garak smiled lazily. "And you're not entirely repulsive."

"Hmmmm; good to know."

"And hopefully you'll leave me alone from now on and I can go back to my cozy and settled existence with Bashir," Garak added pointedly.

"I will; I promise. Will you marry him?" Hobie asked.

"If Starfleet allows us, yes," Garak said. Recalling that he'd never exactly said yes when Julian proposed; he made a mental note to let his lover know they were engaged. He'd tell him the moment he got back to DS9.

"Ah. Excuse me." Hobie reached over his head for the comm unit, set discreetly in the wall above the headboard. "What?"

"Neria-Tza and Hobeia are here." Bot's voice came over. "They'd like to say hello to Mr. Garak. *If* you don't mind."

"*I* don't mind, Bot," Hobie said, innocently. "*Mr. Garak* might mind."

"Well, if neither of you mind and can be bothered," Neria said distinctly, "we'll all be in the lounge; drinking, laughing and socializing without you."

"And thinking about dinner," Hobeia shouted from the background. "Because, it's dinner time."

Hobie looked at the chrono by the bed. "So it is." He looked at Garak. "Where does time go?"

"I've no idea," Garak said, getting up. "Tell them to wait dinner, we'll, or at least, I'll be there as quickly as possible."

"We're coming," Hobie said and clicked off before some rude remark could be made over the randy guffaws in the background. "Well, can I go with you to dinner?" he asked Garak's back.

"Of course, Hobie," Garak said. "I need someone to show me the way to the lounge," he added, looking around the bathroom. "Only a sonic shower, Hobie?"

"'Fraid so, Garak. This ship is built for speed, not comfort." Hobie rose and set the controls for his guest. "May I join you?"

"No," Garak said, stepping under the beam. "We said we'd be right there; if you join me, we'll be hours late."

"Ah, very true." Hobie leaned on the sink and watched Garak bathe. "They'd come looking for us."

"Yes." Garak accepted the mouth rinse his host handed him. Swirling it around, he watched Hobie step into the shower and decided not to linger. He'd had enough of Hobie; no sense seeing more of what he was leaving behind forever. He spit out the rinse and went to find his clothes. Feeling hungry, he dressed and wondered what kind of a meal he'd get on a ship built for speed.

Following Hobie down the corridor, Garak remarked that this ship had almost as much artwork as the _T'Paga_.

"We have warehouses of art, Garak," Hobie said. "There's an old saying: Everyone wants artists as friends but no one wants one in the family. I've got lots of artist friends, not to mention the Gozshedrefreingin commune, so I buy lots of artwork and am given the rest."

"I enjoy the Cardassian paintings you sent me very much, Hobie," Garak said, admiring a bronze bas relief in the 'lift. "I thank you for them."

"Oh, you're welcome, Garak. Art should belong to people who enjoy it. Ah, here we are." Hobie ushered him into a large room.

The deck was covered in layers of Micrian rugs. Three of the walls were covered with paintings but these were nearly overwhelmed by the stars and ships seen through transparent fourth wall. Furs and tapestries covered the overstuffed couches and chairs.

Neria-Tza, Bot and Hobeia rose to greet the Cardassian.

"How well you're looking, Mr. Garak," Neria said in greeting. "What will you have to drink?"

"What are you having?" Garak asked, looking around the room.

"We're in extreme decadence, sir," Hobeia said "We're drinking Teycathylian champagne before dinner."

"Hey, where'd that come from?" Hobie interjected. "I haven't had that in the cellar in months."

"Now you have two cases, less a bottle," Hobeia told his favorite uncle. "Less two now," he added, hearing Bot pop the cork on another bottle.

"I'm sure this is in your honor, Garak," Hobie said, wryly. "These rascals seldom bring me such good things."

"Oh, you are so abused, UncleFara," Hobeia smiled.

"I've never had Teycathylian champagne," Garak said, accepting a glass from Bot.

"Drinking Teycathylian champagne is like falling in love, Mr. Garak," Bot smiled at him. "It feels wonderful and then only gets better the more you do."

Garak merely smiled and clinked glasses with the JetCheq. "And doesn't SaKoszt like this champagne?"

"He does, and so does SaDobra," Hobeia said. "They'll be along later. Right now they're out in the little ship, there." He pointed to a shuttle darting among a formation of medium sized black ships. "They're looking over the robot ships I brought from the shipyards on Cyratata."

"Robot ships?" Garak asked.

"Yes. Centrally controlled by one intelligence, without the communication problems one has in battle," Hobeia said, with a hint of pride.

"Are they sentient or is there an artificial intelligence system in control?" Garak asked. "If I may know," he added, seeing Hobeia hesitate and glance at Hobie.

"Certainly you may know, Garak. The answer is rather disturbing," Hobie said.

"How so? Is it more Talljet technology from beyond the frontier?" Garak watched Hobeia cock an eyebrow and heard him murmur, "Exactly."

"Certain aspects of machine and bio-system interface can be disturbing if one finds merging or subsuming the sentient brain pattern into a machine system a disturbing concept," Hobie continued.

"Sounds like the Borg," Garak said.

"At first glance," Hobie allowed. "However, it's completely voluntary on the part of the sentient being."

"It has to be, I'd rather not have an angry or unwilling being in that chamber," Bot said. "Not with all that firepower," he added.

"How does it work?" Garak asked.

Hobie gestured to his nephew to explain.

"There are sixty ships out there, Mr. Garak," Hobeia said, pointing out the window. "The larger one at the back of the formation is the mothership. In the center of it is a bio-chamber, where the Leader Consciousness lies in a physically, but not mentally, suspended state. Inside the chamber, the interior lining of bio-sensors closes around the body..." Seeing Garak wince, he paused. "Are you all right, Mr. Garak?" he asked, concerned.

"I don't like closed spaces," Garak admitted.

"Nor do I," Bot said.

"Well, they're not for everyone," Hobeia said. "However, once the body is in total contact, the Leader Consciousness is in and in control of all the ships, looking out every viewscreen, interfaced with every computer, every engine, every life support system, etc. As if one has assumed a larger body that feels like the one one has always lived in."

"And from this position, the Leader Consciousness can direct those sixty ships as easily as he raises that glass to his lips," Hobie said.

"Astonishing," Garak said in genuine admiration. "Does it work?"

"Usually," Hobeia said. "The Leader Consciousness must remain very focused."

"One is very focused in battle," Neria said.

"And who's in the Leader Consciousness seat if you are here, Hobeia?" Garak asked.

"Right now? No one; my crew is flying it all from the bridge of the flag ship," Hobeia said. "In formation with Uncle and Neria, I wouldn't want to risk it. My second in command is a magnificent, telepathic XochiCheq, like Neria, but still; I certainly wouldn't want him to space out and turn even one of those ships on ours."

"Does Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich know about this technology?" Garak asked.

"No, we'd never introduce this to the Federation," Hobie said.

"Not yet," Bot added.

"Not never, child, there's no species in the Federation that could handle the bio-interface," Hobie said. "It would tear the human telefield and electromagnetic system to pieces in the first moment of contact."

"Not even the Betazoids?" Garak asked.

"Oh, they're useless," Hobie scoffed. "Although some of them are pretty."

"How about the Vulcans?" Garak persisted.

"There are some pretty Vulcans, too."

"No, I mean..."

"Oh; the bio-interface. Nope. They are too well trained in shielding and melding as children to surrender to the multiple awarenesses," Hobie said. "A Vulcan's entire life is spent keeping other consciousnesses out of theirs. They've been perfecting that so long, they no longer have the neural pathways for it."

"But aren't you half Vulcan, Hobeia?" Garak asked.

"How nice that you remembered that!" Hobeia was touched and flattered by the fact. "I am indeed a VulCheq, but there was damage to various parts of my brain that the machine beings were able to repair."

"Lots of silicone and god knows what in that skull, Garak," Hobie whispered wickedly.

"Hush, Uncle, it's still me," Hobeia admonished. "Although I do interact with machines better than beings most of the time," he admitted.

"Oh? I thought you were quite pleasant company at the qwooba hunt," Garak said graciously. "I thought you all were quite pleasant," he added, deciding to leave them with a good impression, since he'd never be seeing any of them again.

"You're too kind, Mr. Garak," they murmured.

"So, where are you taking all these ships?" Garak asked, looking out the window. "There must be over a hundred ships out there."

"There's a hundred and eleven ships," Neria said. "Hobeia's sixty, my twenty and the rest are cargo ships."

"Which are yours, Neria?" Garak asked.

"Those long, sleek battle cruisers." Neria pointed out several that were visible in the formation. There was more than a hint of pride in his voice. "We'll be taking the cargo ships near the space of some beings who don't like us. We might have to, ah, reason with them if they come out to say hello to us."

"I'm hoping they don't..." Bot began.

"But if they do, they'll give us an excellent test of my new ships," Hobeia finished for him.

"Well, I hope they let us pass," Hobie said firmly. "Because I'm a lover not a fighter, Garak."

Even Garak laughed at this remark. They turned as SaKoszt and SaDobra bounded in.

"I am in love," SaKoszt announced. "I want to marry every one of those ships of yours, Cousin," he said to Hobeia.

"I am starving; when do we eat?" SaDobra said.

"Right now," Hobie led them out and to the dinning room. "Bring some champagne, Bot," he called over his shoulder.

"How nice of you to visit us again, Mr. Garak," SaDobra said pleasantly after he'd eaten enough to take the edge off his hunger. "I really didn't get to speak to you enough at the qwooba hunt. It was such a crowd and I kept thinking SaRija and Catanya were going to kill each other."

"Also, we hadn't seen MajaKhat or Hraja in quite some time," SaKoszt admitted. "And our attention was divided."

"I did not feel neglected in the slightest," Garak assured them. "It was a lot of people to meet all at once. I thought SaRija was a most gracious host."

"When Rezdi let him out of bed," Neria muttered.

"I thought Catanya might shoot him for that," Bot said.

"Oh?" Garak asked.

"All this family gossip," Hobeia came to his noli's defense. "What must you think of us, Mr. Garak?"

"That I'd like to know why Catanya might be jealous of SaRija and Rezdi?"

There was a rather embarrassed silence around the table.

"Catanya and Rezdi," Hobie said at last, "are lovers."

"I hope that does not shock you, Mr. Garak," Bot murmured.

"Why should it?" Hobeia said quickly. "They're only half brothers, and it's not like they'd breed idiots or anything at all."

"I thought the Magidrian blood made you all ambisexual?" Garak asked Hobie.

"The Mage blood is too thin in the JetCheqs," Hobie said. "At least, no one has flipped so far."

"I think we won't," SaDobra said. "No other MageQuad I've ever seen or heard of has flipped, so I think the galaxy is safe."

"So, the Talljet line ends with you?" Garak joked.

"Well, Farro has a wife and family," Bot admitted. "I've fathered a few children."

SaDobra and SaKoszt said they had as well.

Hobeia simply shrugged. "Hochofedra," he said. "Like Tien, Rija and my nolis, I've no interest in raising children."

"I suppose Catanya can't," Neria observed. "He's had his works pulled."

"Well, so have I, but for different reasons," Hobeia said. "The machine beings know nothing about vulcanoid reproductive biology."

"But Catanya had his works put back, no?" SaDobra asked.

"Can they?" Bot asked.

"I don't think so," SaKoszt speculated. "I think once your sperm ducts are gone, they're gone."

"So, is it just cosmetic genitalia now?" SaDobra asked Hobeia, who shrugged. "But does it work?"

"SaDobra," Hobeia laughed. "I've no idea; ask Rezdi next time you see him."

"I'd rather ask Catanya," SaDobra shot back.

"Be careful he don't show you," Hobie said, exchanging a mock scandalized look with Neria-Tza. "And can we change the subject? What must Mr. Garak think of us?"

"I think," Garak said, slyly, "that the Talljet clan is many things, but dull is not one of them."

"Will you be glad to be home, Mr. Garak?" Bot asked when they were well away from the _Tien_ in the little black ship. SaDobra and SaKoszt were along for the ride.

"Yes, very much," Garak said quietly. Much as he'd enjoyed his visit to Cardassia and the few hours with the Talljets, he longed for Bashir.

"We did enjoy your visit, Mr. Garak," SaDobra said from the back.

Garak and SaDobra exchanged polite remarks about the visit and then, as Bot dropped out of warp, about how lovely DS9's Cardassian design was (certainly Starfleet could only learn by appreciating it). SaDobra had just made some cutting remark to the effect that all Starfleet's taste was in its mouth and Garak was on the verge of a riposte and remarking on what a lot of ships were docked there...

"Bot! Look at that," SaKoszt cut in. "Excuse me, Mr. Garak. Bot, look; the big ugly ship painted up like a Ibyriti totem. It's Zbricacolvir's flagship, the _Cbira_, no?"

"Yes, very, very much the _Cbira_," Bot said with a deadly look in his eyes. "Let's have a closer look."

"Is that wise, Cousin?" SaDobra, no coward, reasonably asked, glancing at Garak, and patching in a visual to the _Tien_ of what they were currently seeing.

"We're just looking, Cousin," Bot said. "No harm in that, eh?" He swung the little black ship up under a large ship with Starfleet markings. "I see our friend Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich is visiting as well," he muttered reading the numbers on the starship.

"Zbricacolvir here?" Garak said softly.

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Garak," SaKozst agreed.

"Want to go back to the _Tien_?" Bot offered. "We can be there before anybody can undock or send a gig after us."

"_Cbira_'s gone shy and put her shield up," SaKozst observed.

"'Fraid of little us?" Bot scoffed.

"I'd be more afraid of her tractor beams," SaDobra cautioned.

"Ah, reasonable," Bot admitted and SaKoszt agreed.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ZBRICACOLVIR'S SHIP," Hobie bellowed over the comm.

"Hullo, parent, we're doing just that," Bot soothed.

"In fact I want you all to come back this way until I can bring up some ships," Hobie continued, more calmly. "I can be there in..."

"Ahoy, Tossaria," a low, slithery voice broke into the comm. "Lovely ship you've got there."

"Get off my comm, Zbricacolvir," Bot warned. "Just out for a joyride, we'll be going now."

"Not, certainly, only my account," the voice oozed.

"Perhaps," Bot said coldly. "Where you are is too polluted for the civilized to be."

"Really? I thought it might be you're not the pilot you think you are, Tossaria," Zbricacolvir taunted. "I've got a ship and pilot I'd wager against you or any of your kind."

"I've got a pilot and a ship I'd like to put in that wager," Wiskott-Aldrich's voice broke in.

Bot considered this for a moment and then asked what the course would be.

"I'm sending out a shuttle to mark the course now," Wiskott-Aldrich said, excitedly. "Around it three times and then back to DS9."

Guiding his ship around the station, Bot watched the marker buoys being set out. They marked a course in, around, and through the station and in a slalom amongst the ships around the station. If he thought they were a trifle close to the docked ships, the freighters queued for docking and the station itself, he said nothing. He did listen with interest to Kira and then Sisko arguing that the course was dangerous and being called old women and overruled by Wiskott-Aldrich. While this argument was in progress, the _Cbira_ opened one of its many bays and a ship of similar design, painted a gaudy shade of aqua, drifted out. The same operation was repeated with Wiskott-Aldrich's ship, although this one was a sleek white Starfleet ship.

"Perhaps you could drop me before the race," Garak suggested.

"No time," SaKozst answered for Bot, whose entire attention was on the course and his opponents.

"Sorry, Mr. Garak," SaDobra said softly, lowering the seat restraints for the three of them; Bot would be left free to fly the ship.

"Bot, I'm not sure about this," Hobie's voice came over the din.

"I think backing down would be terrible for my masculinity, Parent," Bot said, vaguely.

"It's not your masculinity I'm worried about, Bot," Hobie said.

"A strand of Wohmilian pearls to the winner," Zbricacolvir sighed as the little ships lined up at the starting place.

Inside the station Quark was taking bets on the winner. One of the freighter captains had overheard the challenge and relayed it to his first mate, sitting at Quark's bar. Bot Tossaria was the clear favorite, with the Starfleet personnel betting heavily on Wiskott-Aldrich's pilot. Zbricacolvir's entrant, like Zbricacolvir himself, was a complete mystery and only the longshot players bet on it.

Word of the race had gone out very quickly from Quark's. Those who could get to a viewport did so, the rest of the station, those who were awake, watched it from their viewers. The ships docked or queued to dock would relay the various parts of the race route from their view screens.

Wiskott-Aldrich ordered Sisko to open the largest bay on the station. "There's your finish, lads," he crowed. "First two lights on the first maker buoy are white and you take off on third, which is red."

Watching the lights on the first marker buoy, Bot sighed, "Mraht."

And all three of his passengers replied, "AmChiera."

The third light turned red and they were off.

Flying through the station structure, Zbricacolvir's pilot pulled ahead by scraping dangerously close to the Ops tower.

"Oh, shit," Kira breathed, leaning back from the Ops view port.

Sweeping up under the _Cbira_, Bot cut off Zbricacolvir's pilot, forcing him to go around the hull. Ducking under a freighter, he deftly cut a few seconds off rounding the first marker buoy beyond the station.

"One down; six to go," SaKoszt murmured.

"Look sharp, Bot, Zbricacolviroria (Zbricacolvir's pilot) is on your case," SaDobra warned from his monitor station.

"Shields up," Bot ordered.

"You'll lose some speed," SaKoszt said.

"Life support to half power," Bot said, whipping the ship around the fourth buoy. "We'll lower our shields when we're where he daren't fire on us." The ship was rocked by a blast. "Like that."

"The bastard," SaKozst growled, opening the weapons array.

"No; we need all speed we have to get out of here." Bot swung the ship around the last buoy and back toward the station. He flew directly at Zbricacolviroria and made him veer off course, thus losing him several seconds.

"What do you mean Zbricacolvir's pilot fired on Bot Tossaria?" Wiskott-Aldrich asked his own pilot.

"Exactly what I said," the unnerved Terran practically yelled.

"Nonsense. Concentrate on your flying," Wiskott-Aldrich scolded and cut off the communication.

"Shields down," Bot ordered as they entered the Station area. "Life support at 100%." This section of the race required more skill than speed.

Having flown it once, Bot took more chances and cut more corners going through the station on the second pass.

"Whew! Hope your property insurance is paid up, Quark," Commander Memphis sighed at the bar. "That was close."

Quark's answer was cut off by someone putting more money on Tossaria.

As they flew beyond the station, Bot kept the Starfleet racer between himself and Zbricacolviroria. With his shields up and life support at a minimum, Bot could not afford the power to fire his weapons. He could only out maneuver the beast until they were where he could lower his shields and max his speed.

These evasive maneuvers gave Wiskott-Aldrich's pilot a slight lead, which he exploited for all it was worth. Trying to pull ahead of Bot on one side and Zbricacolviroria on the other, he nearly crashed into a marker buoy. Only going into a steep dive saved him from a collision with the stationary object.

Wiskott-Aldrich's pilot's dive left Bot and Zbricacolviroria staring at each other. He cursed and dove his ship beneath the blue one. Flying through the freighters, he had a near miss with Wiskott-Aldrich's pilot. Coming up from his own dive, Bot deftly made the turn around the sixth buoy and headed back for the station. Turning sideways, he was able to slide past Zbricacolviroria, who was on a collision course with him. Again. "Shields down; life support normal," he said. "Almost home, Mr. Garak."

"Oh, good," Garak sighed, trying to stay calm on this wild ride.

"Weapons ready, Captain."

"Excellent," Zbricacolvir sighed, sighting on the area of the sixth buoy. "Launch the mines."

"Mines away." The _Cbira_'s bridge watched the three tracer-mines glide to their positions around the sixth buoy.

DS9 seemed like an old friend to Bot now and he roared through it, thus giving himself a serious lead.

The three racers cleared the station and shot out to the maker buoys.

"Shields down, life support 25%, weapons ready," SaKoszt chanted.

"I've got a bad feeling, Cousins," Bot said, noticing Zbricacolviroria swinging wide of him and the Starfleet ship.

Ahead of them, the mines locked in on Bot's ship's signal and began to move toward it.

SaKoszt blasted the first mine and missed the second one.

Seeing what Tossaria was fighting, Wiskott-Aldrich's pilot dropped back and gave him plenty of room to fight in.

Bot evaded the mines and sighed in frank relief when SaKoszt hit the second one on his second try. "You want to get his friend, Cousin?" Bot asked as the third mine bore down on them.

"Workin' on it, Cousin, workin' on it." SaKoszt's task was made more difficult due to Bot's evasive maneuvers. He was on the verge of firing when the mine exploded in front of him.

"Nice shooting, Noli," SaDobra said. "Are you doing it telepathically now?"

"Yeah, right." Neria-Tza's voice came over the comm.

"You might as well win this race, Bot, since you've put so much into it," Hobie advised.

The JetCheqs and Garak looked up at a fighter ship, somewhat larger, but otherwise very similar to the one they were in.

"Weapons off; all power to the engines!" Bot cried, zipping past his parent, the other racers and zeroing in on the open bay doors.

"I hope that thing's got good brakes," O'Brien grated out watching Bot's ship come screaming toward the station.

"Thank the unknowable mind of god this is a huge bay," Bot observed as he brought his ship to an abrupt landing in the middle of it.

"Yes, it's that wonderful Cardassian design," SaDobra said, glad to be stationary for a change. "I'm sure of it."

"And good that it's big, as other pilots seem to need more stopping room," SaKoszt observed as Zbricacolviroria and Wiskott-Aldrich's pilot nearly, but not quite, crashed into the back wall.

Neria's fighter ship glided into the bay along side Bot's ship. They all waited patiently for the bay doors to close and the atmosphere to support humanoid life forms.

"How are you holding up, Garak?" Hobie cheerfully asked over the comm.

"Fine, just fine." Garak had been terrified but damned if he'd let the pirate know.

But Bot seemed to know and whispered, "I'm sorry," at him.

"Who shot the mine?" SaKoszt asked.

"I did," Hobie said.

"I drove," Neria said. "Hobie's a better shot than I am."

"And Neria's a better pilot than I am," Hobie said.

"Yeah, well, whatever you say, Uncle," SaKoszt said. "Much obliged."

Garak suppressed his impatience to get out the cramped cabin and find Bashir. He watched a trio of large men transport into the bay.

"Well, if Zbricacolvir can breath in here," Bot said, opening the hatch. "I suppose we can, too."

"Although I'd rather not spend much time in his company," SaDobra said.

"I just want to collect my prize and get the fuck out of here," Bot said, levering his body out of the vehicle.

Garak remained seated a moment longer, studying Zbricacolvir. Hobie's rival was a huge, burly humanoid. His coarse black hair was streaked with dull gray and fell in lank, matted tendrils half way down his broad back. He wore a short beard that covered most of his ashen face. Beneath his snarled-up mop of hair, Garak could just make out the ridges that went with his Klingon build. And yet, to Garak, looking at Zbricacolvir, Klingons seemed lithe and graceful compared to this pirate - who seemed more thick than solid; more stone-like than powerful; more wicked than daring. Perhaps it was Zbricacolvir's eyes, oblong, bulging opaque muddy brown eyes that were directed at Garak. Wide spaced eyes, as if Zbricacolvir needed to see what was in front, as well as to the sides, of him. 'Dead eyes,' Garak thought. 'And yet looking right at me.' The Cardassian allowed Bot to help him out of the ship. A pleasant thank you and good night died on his lips as Zbricacolvir began to move toward their group.

It was as Memphis had said: Zbricacolvir moved as if reality were retreating from him. The gliding, sighing motion of a monster from a nightmare.

Garak was struck dumb and immobile with fear.

Instinctively, Bot placed himself between Zbricacolvir and Garak. SaKoszt and SaDobra formed another barrier behind Bot. Hobie and Neria had by then joined them and placed themselves protectively on either side of the Cardassian.

"Bravo, Tossaria, what excellent flying," Zbricacolvir sighed. "I see your father's blood is not much polluted by the Talljet whore's."

"I fucking won," Bot said coldly, brushing off the pirate's compliment as well as insult. "My prize, Zbricacolvir." He held out his hand imperiously.

"So you did, Tossaria, so you did," Zbricacolvir said, drawing a strand of large gray pearls from his pocket and dropping them into Bot's hand.

The pearls were smooth orbs the size of Garak's forehead spoon-ridge. They were cool to the touch and glowed with soft luminescence like the moon in a cloudy sky.

Bot rolled the strand in his hands for a few moments and then, very deliberately, turned his back on Zbricacolvir to face Garak. "This is my prize, Mr. Garak," he said, showing the pearls to the Cardassian.

"Congratulations," Garak said softly, keeping his eyes on Bot and not the looming horror behind him.

"I wish to give them to you," Bot said, putting the pearls, from which he'd expelled all Zbricacolvir's energy patterns, into the Cardassian's trembling hand. "In hopes, Mr. Garak, that I may soon call you step-parent."

The tension in the bay doubled as Zbricacolvir's rage swelled out and around them.

"I..." Garak began but was interrupted by Sisko, Wiskott-Aldrich, Kira, Odo, and O'Brien joining them.

"One helluva race!" Wiskott-Aldrich was shouting.

Sisko was ordering Zbricacolvir off the station, something about putting mines in Bajoran space and other hostile actions. He was overruled by Wiskott-Aldrich, but put up a fight by citing pertinent Starfleet regulations. Kira, O'Brien and even Odo seemed unnerved by Zbricacolvir. Sisko might have been deeply disturbed by the pirate had he not been so angry.

In the confusion, Garak put the pearls in his pocket and slipped away. He heard Talljet, Neria and the JetCheqs join in the argument, as if to offer more cover for his escape.

It was late in the station night by then and he rushed through the deserted corridors to the one place he was always welcome.

'At least I hope I'm still welcome here,' he thought wildly, trying to calm down with every step that brought him closer to Bashir. "At last," he sighed in relief.

Garak spoke the doctor's door code and, in the intervening second before the door opened, thought: 'if Julian's in bed with someone, I deserve that, I don't deserve his loyalty or his love or his fidelity, I've certainly been unfaithful to him, I must be punished, this is my punishment, I'll leave here forever, I'll go with Talljet, I'll throw myself at Talljet, he'll like that, I'll be Talljet's whore, it's all I deserve if Julian's in there with someone else because he no longer trusts or loves me, and when Talljet is done with me, tired of me, he'll cast me aside on some squalid little planet where I'll be forced to beg for my meals and shelter until I die in disgrace and infamy and probably have some horrible communicable disease and cheap, tacky clothes, because I betrayed the trust of the one person in the entire galaxy that cared even slightly for me, by indulging in nostalgia for Xriet and a whim for Talljet and tossed the most important love of my life right out the airlock over nothing, in utter stupidity and...' The door slid open. He approached the dim light in Julian's bedroom.

"Oh, good." Bashir was sitting up in his bed, sleepy and tousled. "You're back," he said affectionately.

"Julian!" Garak flung himself into his lover's arms and, fully dressed, burrowed under the covers. "Let's get married!"

"What?" Bashir pulled the covers back so he could understand what Garak said.

"Don't you still want to?"

"Still want to what?"

"Get married." Garak was trying to slow down. He was rattled from the race and the shock of Zbricacolvir. Also, Bashir was never at his brightest when woken from a sound sleep. "Don't you?"

"Certainly I do," Julian soothed him. "And we will, very soon. Sisko thinks if he married us and we simply announce it, Fleet will accept it. After all, we're stuck in this backwater nowhere; what difference does it make to Fleet whom I marry? Of course, my security clearance will be lowered, but I couldn't care less about that."

"What time is it?" Garak asked suddenly.

"Oh Two Hundred. Why?"

"Let's get married right now."

"It's much too early to wake Captain Sisko," Bashir said.

"Oh, he's very much awake," Garak said. "I just saw him; he was fully conscious and upright."

"It's still too early," Bashir gently insisted. "But, in the meantime, you can undress and come to bed properly."

Garak got up and took his clothes off. He lay down and curled back into Bashir's warm arms. For good measure, he pulled the covers over his head.

"What's wrong?" Bashir asked, uncovering him.

"I've just met Zbricacolvir," Garak admitted.

"Here? What's he doing here?"

"I've no idea. I've only just arrived here myself."

"And you came right here." Bashir held him tighter.

"Yes. I'm glad you were here, Julian."

"Ummmm."

"Alone."

"Ummmm."

"Completely alone."

"Ummmm. How was Cardassia?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?" Bashir asked, leaning back to look at him.

"Yes; just fine."

"I wondered if you were going to come back."

"Of course I was coming back," Garak almost snapped.

"Well, I hoped so, but Cardassia is your home and you've longed for it all these years, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"And...?"

"Oh, I couldn't live there now," Garak said. "It's all the same; I'm the one who's changed."

"How so?" Bashir asked.

"I simply don't want to be where you are not."

Bashir leaned down and kissed him for a long time. "Did you sleep with Xriet?" he asked when he was done.

"Of course not."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Well, all that's over and done with."

"Really?" Bashir groped in the dark for Garak's nose.

"Yes. Let go of my nose! What are you doing?"

"Seeing if it's grown."

"Since I left here?" Garak asked, pushing his lover's hand away.

"No, since you're lying to me about Xriet." Bashir pressed his smile into Garak's thick hair.

"I'm not lying; it is over and done with. I only want you, Julian."

"And I only want you, Elim," Bashir assured him. "And you did not sleep with your former lover and protector? Not even once in all the weeks you were on Cardassia Prime?"

"It was only two weeks, Julian."

"Two weeks and three days," Bashir said firmly. "Did you sleep with him?"

"Well..."

"Ah ha!"

"But it is really over," Garak said quickly. "Even Xriet realizes that. I was never more than just fond of him..."

"I understand."

"And now there's you."

"And only me."

"And only you."

"Good. And now we're sleeping."

"And now we're sleeping."

And they did.

Garak opened his shop in an exceptionally good mood the next morning. Julian had woken him by chanting, "My Cardassian is home, my Cardassian is home, and now it's time to play!" and they had; very much so.

Checking his messages, he found he'd been missed by his customers. This made him happy. There were two weddings coming up and several Bajoran holidays. Enough work to keep him busy and solvent for the foreseeable future. Life was good. He'd marry Bashir and settle down into domestic bliss with him. And if his first morning back was any indication, there would be much bliss to be had.

The morning passed quickly. Garak commed his loyal clientele and set up appointments for fabric and design selection. Several beings dropped in to say there were glad he was back and would be in later to buy something. Eventually it was lunch time and Bashir commed to say he'd meet Garak at the Replimat.

'Julian must be feeling broke if he's taking me to the Replimat instead of Quark's,' Garak thought, glancing at his Master Ghet drawings. 'Perhaps one of you will be sacrificed for some financial comfort.' He doubted this would happen, but it was nice to know that it could happen. Rather, they would economize a little more. He closed the shop and turned toward the Replimat.

Passing by Quark's, Garak realized it was filled to over flowing with pirates. Hobie, Bot, Neria-Tza, SaKoszt, and some of Hobie's crew he recognized. The others were in heavily embroidered black wool tunics and pants. For a moment Garak wondered if it were some kind of livery but decided it was a regional or ethnic costume. He nodded at the crowd around Hobie, who looked positively grim. Through one of Quark's view ports, the tailor caught a glimpse of many, many ships around the station that had not been there last night. Further along Garak looked directly into Zbricacolvir's eyes and wished he had not; a bolt of irrational fear hit him in the gut. He kept his eyes to himself and quickened his pace to the Replimat. He now realized why he and Bashir were lunching there; the crowd at Quark's seemed quite lethal.

He found Bashir waiting in front of the Replimat where the doctor had a view of his route from the shop.

"There you are," Julian smiled.

"Worried?"

"A little," the doctor admitted but did not elaborate until they had food and were seated. "Quark's is swarming with buccaneers."

"I noticed," Garak said blandly. "I was rather hoping they'd all be gone by now."

"So does Sisko," Bashir said. "He's ordered the Starfleeters to stay away from them. Odo has all his people on alert."

"Has anything happened?" Garak asked.

"Not yet. But you can cut the tension with a knife."

"What an interesting expression," Garak murmured. "Why are they still here?"

"Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich wants them here for some reason. He even let Zbricacolvir bring up his ships last night when Hobie's ships arrived. He won't allow Sisko to throw them off the station," Bashir told him. "I think the admiral somehow enjoys their company."

"Of thugs, brigands and lunatics? What odd company to keep."

"I couldn't agree with you more." Bashir smiled and gave his full attention to his meal.

Garak drank his tea and said he'd have to get back to his shop. Bashir rose with him and suggested they take the long way around. This was agreeable and they set out.

They had just stepped out of the Replimat when Zbricacolvir's men intercepted them. "Our Captain wants a word with you, Cardassian," one hissed in Kardasi at him.

"Sorry; too busy right now," Garak said, and tried to leave. Another huge humanoid in embroidered black wool stood in his way.

The tailor pulled Julian behind him and was relieved to see Neria and Bot approaching. Beyond them, he could see Hobie talking into a communicator. And then that image was blotted out by Zbricacolvir coming toward him. Or rather, everything receding away from the creature as he drew near.

Neria snarled some gibberish at the leader of the pack, who snarled gibberish back and turned to Zbricacolvir for guidance.

"There can be no harm in speaking to GarakFara," the pirate sighed in Romulan. "Neria-Tza, you've been nursemaid to the Talljet spawn for too long, you worry like a wet nurse with dry teats."

Bot and Neria stood their ground between Garak and Bashir and Zbricacolvir.

"Well," Garak said with more calm than he felt. "Nice to see you again, Neria and Bot. I really must be going." Taking Bashir by the arm, he found their way still blocked. Looking back at Zbricacolvir, he saw Hobie and several of his crew running toward them.

The next was a blur of motion to Garak. Zbricacolvir's men yanked Neria and Bot away and the pirate reached for him. The knot of pirates around him and Bashir exploded into battle as Hobie and his men flung themselves into the fray. Pirates poured out of Quark's to join what was now an all out brawl. The Cardassian was suddenly very busy doing his own fighting and trying to protect Bashir. The situation reached a new level of dilemma when Zbricacolvir slung Garak over his shoulder and ran down the Promenade with him.

Once Zbricacolvir had cleared the fighting, he beamed himself out of the station. The last thing Garak saw and heard was Bashir yelling his name.

"GARAK!" Bashir heard Neria cursing beside him and then Hobie yelling something incomprehensible to the Station translators. His gut told him Hobie had yelled 'get to your ships!' or 'after them!', which is what Bashir would have yelled. He saw Neria dart a few paces away from the brawl and, instinctively, the doctor stepped into the pirate's transporter beam.

On the bridge of a strange ship, Zbricacolvir set Garak on his feet and said something to his crew Garak could not understand. Looking for an exit, the Cardassian realized two things: he had no way off an orbiting starship and he was surrounded by huge men in embroidered black wool.

Still mulling this over, Garak was startled when one of the pirates howled and waved wildly at the viewscreen. The others then exploded into action; Zbricacolvir was snarling and took the center seat.

Garak could rather appreciate their concern; sixty black ships had just uncloaked in front of them and Neria's battlecruisers were moving to intercept.

"You are the bravest or stupidest Terran I've ever seen." Neria said when he and Bashir materialized on his bridge. "Or both," he added, sliding into the center seat.

"Where's Garak?" Bashir demanded.

Neria gave a series of strange howls and was answered in the same way. "Well," he said, switching back into Standard, and glad Hobie had taught it to him all those years ago on Ashagedra. "Hopefully, he's on one of those ships moving up to attack us."

Bashir turned to the view screen. Not only was Garak on one of several dozen strangely painted ships, the Station was between the opposing battle formations.

"OH MY GOD! WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, ADMIRAL, WILL YOU GET YOUR PIRATES AWAY FROM MY STATION!" Sisko yelled at a disappearing Wiskott-Aldrich, who was transporting to his flagship. Sisko handed the station defense to Kira and transported to the bridge of the Defiant. He couldn't do much against over a hundred ships, but he could try to keep his ship between them and the station. He realized Wiskott-Aldrich had the same idea when he saw the admiral's flagship maneuvering into position.

"I think your friends might want us to leave, Doctor," Neria murmured as Wiskott-Aldrich fired across the bow of the battlecruiser closest to the Station.

"As soon as you get Garak back safely," Bashir said through his clenched teeth. "That's all I want, too."

Neria, busy ordering his ships to slowly, very slowly, move away from the station, ignored him. The pirate noticed Hobeia's ships were doing the same. Watching Zbricacolvir's ships move away as the Defiant herded them away from the station, Neria had a moment of profound respect for Wiskott-Aldrich and Sisko. Outnumbered, outgunned, but through sheer nerve the Terrans were protecting their own. 'But that's Terrans for you,' he thought 'Little Dr. Bashir steps into an alien transporter beam; never occurs to him that we might be transporting into something he can't survive. Wiskott-Aldrich and Sisko get in their puny little ships and face down hundreds of crazed and enraged pirates in heavily armed ships, and succeed because it never occurred to them they wouldn't.' The standoff continued; Neria hated standoffs and Hobie, wherever he was, seemed not to be doing anything productive out there. "How many tracer-bots can we launch, Otoz?" he asked his First Mate.

"Thirty. But which ship is GarakFara on?"

"That's a really excellent question." Neria told him to get them ready for launch anyway. "Open a hail, Byrizya," he said.

"All yours, Captain," Byrizya said.

"Zbricacolvir, just give us GarakFara in the same condition you took him and you can leave here," Neria said, reasonably, and added, "Alive." He winked at Dr. Bashir, who'd jumped slightly at the sound of his lover's name, and wondered what the Terran was making of all the howling in Patois.

They were all waiting for an answer when one of Zbricacolvir's ships wheeled out of formation and ran.

"There's our boy, Otoz, get your tracer ready," Neria said after ordering his ships to give chase.

"How d'you know, sir? Might be a decoy."

"Zbricacolvir is not that smart or subtle," Neria said and got nods of agreement around the bridge. All except Dr. Bashir, who was not understanding a word of it.

There was a brief skirmish before Zbricacolvir's remaining ships turned tail and then they were off. Neria saw the two small, black reconnaissance ships - Bot's and the one he and Hobie had arrived in - shoot from two of his battle cruisers and he briefly wondered who was in them. At the moment Neria was fully occupied with catching Zbricacolvir's ship before it got into warp. He was greatly annoyed to see one of his tracer-bots shot down.

"They're firing on our tracer-bots, sir," Otoz told him uselessly.

"I see that. Let's give them something else to do," Neria said, opening his weapons console. "Don't blow anything up, lads, we still don't know which ship GarakFara is on." He assumed Hobeia, whose black ships were firing very carefully as well, had the same idea.

Neria had had no idea where Hobie was; he assumed the MageCheq was one on Hobeia's black ships. If Hobie were on one of Neria's battlecruisers, Neria assumed he would have made his presence known by now. Same if Hobie were in one of the reconnaissance ships. So far, though, no sign of him and Neria very seriously doubted Hobie was still on DS9.

But Neria really didn't have time to contemplate this much. The little reconnaissance ships had headed off Zbricacolvir's ships and were harrying them to slow them down. This impressed Neria because of the difference in size and weapons power. "More speed; hey ho here we go."

Watching Hobeia's black ships, Neria decided Hobeia must be in the driver's seat. The formation was too tight and coordinated to be directed from the bridge of the mothership. The sixty ships were moving like one being with one consciousness. It was rather frightening and Neria was glad they were on the same side.

It was Hobeia's black ships that finally cornered Zbricacolvir's. Neria brought his ships up in support and opened a hail.

A visual opened up to the bridge of the ship they thought Garak was on. Their hunch had been correct: on the bridge of that ship stood Zbricacolvir holding a knife to Garak's throat.

"You fire on us, he dies," Zbricacolvir hissed. "You move, he dies. You back your ships off, Neria, NOW, or he dies."

"Back off; slowly," Neria told his ships. "Hobeia, if you can hear me..."

"I hear you, Neria," Hobeia's raspy voice came over the comm as the black ships backed away.

"Excellent," Neria said, staring down Zbricacolvir across the void. A moment later, Garak's abductor turned and flashed away.

"Tracer-bot away, sir," Otoz said from his station.

Neria's "good work" was lost in the pitched battle with Zbricacolvir's remaining ships suddenly raging around them. It was a short but fierce scuffle, more like a temper tantrum to work off the frustration of not being able to properly kill each other in a real space battle, instead of this poorly prepared, impromptu skirmish. Only Hobeia's ships were fighting with anything approaching grace and dignity. Otherwise, they just mauled each other for a while. Shots were fired, raggedy charges were made and then, as quickly as it started, Zbricacolvir's ships turned and fled.

"Well, that was annoying," Neria observed. "After them! Byrizya, contact the reconnaissance ships, find out who's driving and where they are now."

"Yes, sir." A moment later he told Neria that the reconnaissance ships were jamming subspace contact. "If they can't hear us, Zbricacolvir ships can't hear them."

"Good point; leave them alone," Neria agreed. "Hope that tracer-bot stuck, Otoz."

"Me, too, Neria. We're losing their trail."

"Shit."

"Fast ships; good pilots."

"Aye, true enough, and a Cardassian passenger that belongs to us," Neria sighed as the chase went cold. "Follow what you can. I'm betting the reconnaissance ships were with them as far as they could go. Now we have to find them before their life support gives out."

Neria turned to a pale and shaken Bashir. "I hope your Cardassian is worth all this, Doctor."

"He is."

Whatever Neria was going to say was lost. Byrizya broke in to tell him the reconnaissance ships were hailing and they laid in a course to rendezvous with them. It turned out to be SaKozst and Bot in them. "Nice of you boys to check in," Neria mock scolded.

"Just please hurry, Neria," Bot said tiredly. "We're in Zbricacolvir's Autonomous Zone."

"Full speed, Otoz," Neria ordered and watched several of Hobeia's ships vanish in the same direction.

"Neria," Hobie's voice came over the comm. "Don't take your ships into Zbricacolvir's Autonomous Zone; let the robot ships do it."

Neria gave the order to change course. "You've been so quiet, Hobie," he said.

"I've been sitting on my fucking hands on Hobeia's bridge from the git go," an angry voice came over. "Once he's in the driver's seat there is nothing for anyone else to do but WATCH!"

"How dreadful for you," Neria consoled. "Why don't you come over here? You can keep Dr. Bashir company."

"What the hell...?"

"He stepped into my transporter beam."

"Well, I wish I had instead of beaming to Hobeia's ship; but is Bashir insane doing that?"

"No; just in love."

"What now?" Bashir asked the troubled faces around Neria's dinner table. The bad news was that the tracer-bot had lost Zbricacolvir's ship and all Bot and SaKozst could tell anyone was that the pirate had taken Garak into his Autonomous Zone.

"We wait for Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo to arrive," Hobie said quietly, ignoring the shudders of horror around the table.

"Garak could be anywhere." Bashir did not know who Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo were, so he didn't shudder. He was actually too worried about his lover to worry about anything else.

"Yrit and Gvo are the best hun... trackers in the galaxy, Dr. Bashir," Bot assured him.

"They'll find him," SaDobra chimed in.

"And then?" Bashir asked.

"These are tough questions, Doctor," Neria said gently. "We won't know how to proceed until we know where Garak is."

"What if Starfleet made an inquiry or complaint or..."

No one laughed at Bashir's idea. "I doubt Zbricacolvir would take it seriously," SaKoszt said. "Anymore than we would." He exchanged nods with Otoz.

"And how much complaint or whatnot is Starfleet going to make over a formerly exiled Cardassian tailor?" Hobie asked. He watched Bashir lower his eyes and go very still. "Don't give up yet, Bashir. Zbricacolvir is using Garak as bait for me, he'll keep him in good shape," he said, but was thinking, 'if Garak doesn't do anything stupid - like fight.'

Dr. Djerian came in and, after cordially greeting his fellow physician, cast an empath eye over him and was pleased to find no damage; tissue or otherwise. The healer turned to Hobie and switched into the Patois: "They're docking their ship. Shall we meet them in the shuttle bay or bring them here?"

"Let's meet them," Hobie said flatly.

Neria studied his long time friend and business partner. "That was fast," he said after a thoughtful moment. "Were Mr. Death and Mr. Suffering in the neighborhood?"

Hobie did not answer except to suggest, in Standard, they all speak a language their guest, Dr. Bashir, could understand.

"Yes, I'd appreciate that," Bashir said, good-naturedly.

Neria let it drop; no sense upsetting Bashir with Yrit's and Gvo's nicknames. They were, in and of themselves, upsetting enough. "I think Dr. Bashir should stay here, Hobie," Neria said, still in Patois, rising. Only the strongest telepaths met with Yrit and Gvo.

"I agree," Djerian said.

The VulCheqs nodded, but remained silent.

"Come, Dr. Bashir. I think you'll find this interesting." Hobie ushered Neria's passenger ahead of him.

Neria commanded a battle fleet, but the corridors were still crammed with artwork. The resemblance to a gallery waned and mostly dispersed as they reached the bowels of the ship. Except for a few landscapes, the walls were mainly bare when they reached the shuttle bay.

The chamber was pressurized but the door firmly shut. "We let them know you'd be coming to them, sir," Byrizya told Neria-Tza.

"Oh, yeah? What did they say?" Neria asked to cover the nervousness meeting those MageCheq ghouls brought on.

"They said '...yessssssss...'." Byrizya was an uncanny mimic and nobody laughed, or even smiled.

Since the conversation was all still in Patios, Bashir had no idea what was going on. He knew nothing about Yrit or Gvo and so marched calmly into the shuttle bay behind Neria and Hobie. Still focused on the need to find Garak and get the home, Bashir was willing to bravely face anything, anywhere to accomplish it. However, he was not prepared to freeze with terror as the hunters turned to face him. Stopped in his tracks, the JetCheqs formed a little knot around him as Hobie, Neria and Djerian continued toward Mr. Death and Mr. Suffering.

They were tall and gaunt and reminded Bashir of ThiaZole, who frightened him a little. Except these two frightened him a lot. They wore pale-colored, loose clothing, which gave the impression of stick-like limbs. Pairs of bony white hands hung limply at their sides as they listened to whatever Hobie was saying in the incomprehensible Magidrian Patois. Unlike ThiaZole, these beings had humanoid eyes, although of the dead and unseeing type. Bashir had very little experience with empath/telepaths, but after meeting ThiaZole and Djerian, had done some reading. He recalled in his studies learning that in certain environments, empath/telepaths use their physical eyes so seldom to physically 'see', that their eyes have a turned inward and unseeing appearance. This type of creature navigates the terrain using telepathic sonar. In highly evolved empaths, it is a sonar of the emotions, memories, telepathic resonance, and organic electromagnetic fields. And in some odd cases reported in the previous century on Magidrian, Omega 11 and other planets now surrounded by sargassospace, some very strange creatures seemed not to be moving at all, merely waiting for reality to meet, flow through them and be gone. The reports call it 'second-sight' or 'fore-knowing'. Bashir had not really understood these reports; their authors were usually referred for extended psychiatric counseling once they returned to the Federation. Looking at the hunters, Bashir did recall a passage speculating that if a Magidrian-like species and empathic species mated, the resultant hybrid would be a powerful, but troubled, specimen. Due to the fact that empathic compassion and second-sight seemed to produce a cynical, ruthless and often homicidal ennui.

(This strange ennui did not occur when the Mage and telepaths bred. Some latent empath strain in the Mage became active in the offspring, who were, like the Talljets, generally sensitive and good-natured, but faster, smarter and stronger than their non-Mage parent, if they knew them.)

For all their gaunt pallor and emaciated frames, Yrit and Gvo did not have an aura of unhealthiness about them. They seemed dead but not decaying; somehow perfectly preserved, as if they'd become fossilized while still living. And yet among the many fine characteristics they had, like the Talljets, inherited the most magnificent hair from their Mage parent. Full, wavy, vibrant, slate-colored tresses tied back and flowing down their narrow backs and jutting shoulder blades was perhaps the most disturbing aspect of their disturbing appearance. Their robust hair seemed to mock the living death it crowned.

"Do you know them?" Bashir asked SaKozst, standing next to him.

"No; first time I have seen them," the VulCheq said.

"I've heard of them," SaDobra said. "But never saw them until now."

"Nor I," Hobeia said.

"What have you heard?" Bashir asked.

"That they can track a being over space and time by his memories," SaDobra said, shuddering.

"Or his tears," Bot said softly.

"How?" Bashir had read something eerily similar in his research on the Cvomi and Phols.

"They fix on a residual vibration or emanation the subject leaves on a physical object," Hobeia explained. "They handle the object until they pick up a frequency or wavelength or something about the person they're hunting. Then they follow some kind of trail only they can sense."

"I have heard that when the trail goes cold, they can even move forward or backward in time to pick it up again," SaKoszt added.

"Or move sideways in reality," SaDobra said. "But only briefly or they get lost." The two first born JetCheqs turned skeptical faces to him. "Well, that's what Dolo-fra told me once."

"Dolo-fra also believed in engine gremlins and curses," SaKoszt informed his noli.

"Don't you, SaK?" Hobeia teased.

"Only when I can't find a better answer. Shhh," he said, stepping in front of Bashir.

Bashir felt the JetCheqs tense around him as Neria and Djerian raised their voices arguing with Hobie. He could not understand what the argument was about but he found the silent Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo turned toward him, studying him with their unseeing pale eyes. Bashir reeled slightly as the deck shifted beneath him, drawing him toward Yrit and Gvo; then he realized he had not moved, somehow they had.

Bot put a steadying hand on him and asked, "Are you all right, Doctor?" he asked.

"I think so," Bashir mumbled. "They move so strangely..."

"Yeah; scary," Hobiea agreed, moving a little closer.

Neria and Djerian continued to argue with Hobie in Patois as they approached him. Bashir could tell the JetCheqs understood what they were saying because they were frowning and began to argue with Hobie in the weird howling language as well.

Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo were silent, watching him with their void gaze.

"Dr. Bashir, I have miscalculated," Hobie said sharply in Standard to shut up the Patois around him.

"....missssss..." Yrit sighed.

"....calculation.... Hobie'sssssss....." Gvo continued.

Bashir had the oddest feeling that they were not speaking a language he could understand... and yet he was understanding them. He felt a weird combination vertigo, déjà vu, and dread.

/....sssssssmart Terran..../

The JetCheqs must have heard this, too, because they drew protectively closer.

"As I was saying..." Hobie began.

".....ssssssspeak pirate......"

Hobie glared at both hunters. "I miscalculated, basically fucked up, when we left DS9 in such hurry, I didn't get anything that belonged to Garak..."

"......no thing....in...animate..."

"......object..... physsssssical thing......"

"Well, um, how could you know..." Bashir stammered.

A strange keening sound with a vague resemblance to laughter erupted from the hunters.

"Know that I would need it? I couldn’t know that!" Hobie barked at the hunters to shut them up.

They were done laughing, or whatever it was, anyway and resumed their leisurely study of Bashir.

"So," Hobie began again. "Going back to DS9 to get some*thing* would take hours and hours..."

"....DSSSSSSSSS9! ... sssssssstation....."

"....vissssssit!....."

"And would probably not be a good idea to take Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo there anyway," Hobie said rather shakily. Everybody, except the hunters, nodded in agreement. "So, Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo need to physically..."

".......physsssssically....."

"...touch something that has been in physical, tactile contact with Mr. Garak...."

"......GaaaraaakFaaaraaa.....poor......"

"......poor GaaaaaraaaakFaaaraaaa...."

"...and we don't have anything," Hobie looked into Bashir's eyes, "but you."

"And that is out of the question," Neria said firmly.

"Not to mention insane," Djerian added.

The JetCheqs merely looked scandalized at the idea.

But Bashir continued to look into Hobie's eyes and, even though he didn't trust him any further than he could throw him, knew Hobie Talljet was his best chance of ever seeing Garak again. And then he knew whatever he had to risk, Garak was worth it. "What must I do?"

The chorus of objections was drowned out by

/.....excccccellent Terran...../

/......braaave excccccccellent Terran...../

in his head. Bashir looked away from Hobie and at the hunters. They were not looking at him; they were still and silent as stone idols - waiting, patient, motionless, waiting. The doctor felt the linear progression of time suspend itself; this was frightening for him and he mentally backed away from it. He began to hear bits and pieces of the arguments around him. Everyone was speaking Standard, presumably to convince him how dangerous all this was.

"...magnetic field can't sustain..." (Djerian)

"...not shielded at all...." (SaKoszt)

"...not strong enough..." (Neria)

"...they'll eat him..." (Bot)

".......jussssssst tasssssste....."

".........need hissssss emotionsssssss for Gaaaaraaak....."

"........ to hunt with......"

"They never don't do what they promise," Hobie said quietly. "And they are our best hope."

Bashir nodded and tried to step forward; he was drawn back by Djerian.

"A conduit," the healer said flatly. "Between them and Bashir."

".....won't work....."

"........mussssst touch him........"

"Let's just get it over with, shall we?" Bashir said wearily, stepping around Djerian.

"......wisssse......brave....."

"...brave......thoughtful......"

"Don't resist anything, Bashir," Djerian said, standing close to him. "Or they will tear you apart."

"I won't."

"I can't touch you while they do, but I'll be as close as I can be," Djerian assured him.

"And I, too," Neria said on the other side.

Bashir nodded and tried not to flinch as the hunters drew near, or everything drew near them; time and space seemed to obey different laws with them.

"......a memory......"

"...a Garak memory......"

".......happy........"

"..no.....ssssssad.......sssssad isssss ssssstronger......."

Bashir tried to remember a sad memory of Garak and couldn't. Irritating, amusing, loving, angry, humorous memories abounded but nothing sad. "I can't...."

".....then anything......."

".......anything......."

'Just Garak, then.' Bashir let him memory roam over his lover's face, the last thing he was wearing the last day, the last morning they made love... The doctor vaguely noticed the hunters waving Djerian and Neria away so they could circle him. They were running their hands over him but not touching him, pausing here and there to murmur or sigh at each other. Bashir found himself contemplating the rest of his life without Garak and tremendous sadness and longing swept over him. Tears came to his eyes but did not spill. That was when the pale slim hands made contact with his neck, and then his hand, and finally gently touched his face, just below his eyes to coax a tear out of each eye. Everything stopped for Bashir - the worry, the fear, sadness - he felt a warm sense of peace infuse him and his terror of Yrit and Gvo lifted away from him. Not as if he'd mastered it or understood it; more like a fever breaking and the sound, peaceful sleep that follows.

/.....yesssss Terran...../

/......trussssst.....sssssssafe......here....../

The hunters stepped away from him. "...he comessss with usssss...." Yrit sighed.

"Didn't you get...?" Hobie began.

"...yessssss....sssssstill need his esssssance to help usssss hunt......"

"......yessssss......"

"Fine, let's go," Bashir said, calmly. "Sooner gone, sooner there." He felt comfortable with the hunters now, as comfortable with their alienness as he was with Garak's.

/......we go....../

"I am going with you," SaDobra broke in.

"Like hell!" Neria said and was generally agreed with.

"He cannot go alone with them," the VulCheq insisted.

"Nor can you," Djerian said.

"A telepath should go with them," Bot said. "And it should be me."

"I'm stronger; I should go," Hobeia said.

"And who flies the robot ships?" SaKoszt asked. "I'll go."

"NONE of you are going," Hobie said, turning toward the door as if the discussion were over.

"I'll go," Neria finally said.

"You have ships and crews to command," Hobie snapped, coming back to the group.

"And Bashir is a Terran," Neria snapped back.

"Neria is right," Djerian said. "I'll go."

"I'm going too," SaDobra said again.

"NO." Hobie was rapidly losing patience with all this selfless sacrifice. "Ling will kill me."

"Uncle, that is your problem." SaDobra turned to the hunters, who seemed amused by it all. "We go?"

".....yesssss...."

"........Djerian......?"

"Yes, Yrit; we go."

".........sssssspeak Pholana......niccccce for me......."

"Yeah, nice," Djerian said eyeing the PholCheq. It was easy to forget that Yrit was half Pholana and that Gvo was CvomiCheq; they were so bizarre, they seemed like a new species. Or a bad dream. "We go," the healer repeated in Pholana.

SaDobra patted SaKoszt on the arm; it was as affectionate as the Vulcan reared VulCheqs got. "If I do not return, Nolo, you may have my train set," he said seriously.

"Come back and we will lay some new track," SaKoszt said, equally seriously. "Godspeed, Noli."

"Godspeed."

"YOU ARE NOT GOING." Hobie felt the situation slipping away from him and didn't like it.

"Godspeed, Uncle and Neria and cousins and all," SaDobra called over his shoulder as he darted after the hunters, the healer and the bravest Terran he'd ever seen.

"SADOBRA," Hobie yelled at the closing spacecraft door.

"C'mon, Hobie." Neria patted his shoulder. "We have things to do."

"Shit." But Hobie turned and left the shuttle bay with everyone else.

While Zbricacolvir held a knife to his throat and howled at Neria-Tza in the weird gibberish these pirates were so fond of, Garak had looked into Bashir's beautiful, but worried, eyes and hoped this was not the last time he'd ever see them.

Zbricacolvir had moved the knife from his throat and handed him over to his guards. "Keep an eye on him," the pirate hissed in Romulan. "There used to be a bad, bad boy in the Obsidian Order named Elim Garak."

Now, several hours later, Garak still hoped he would see his lover again, but was more concerned with where and when. Seriously suspecting there was no point in it, even if he could get out of the room they'd put him in, he tried the door. It was locked but one of the two guards outside opened it and asked him, in Romulan (seemingly, the most common language on the ship), if he wanted anything. They laughed when he said, "To go home," and then relocked the door. 'I wonder what Zbricacolvir thinks I did in the Order,' Garak mused, pacing beside the only furniture in the room: a bed. 'Perhaps he knows something about me I don't.' The door slid open, interrupting this pointless train of thought, Garak watched Zbricacolvir glide into the room.

"Put this on," the pirate ordered in Romulan, tossing him a heavily embroidered black wool gown.

"Thank you, but I think it would hardly suit me," Garak said more calmly than he felt.

"Do you need assistance undressing, Cardassian?" Zbricacolvir growled. "It would amuse me to rip your clothes off. It would be interesting," he menaced, advancing.

"No... I can do it." Garak kept the fear out of his voice and began to undo his tunic. "Are you going to watch?"

"For now." His host leaned against the bulkhead.

Garak managed to change clothes without exposing too much of himself to Zbricacolvir. The gown was heavy wool, embroidered with dull metallic threads. It was lined in black silk; nevertheless, Garak could feel the swirling pattern of the embroidery against his scales. About then he realized two things, the first was that the embroidery was in the same design as Cardassian scales and he wondered where they got the pattern, and, secondly, that the gown was tightening around him. Looking up at Zbricacolvir, he found the pirate studying him as he adjusted control set in his wrist band.

"Too tight, GarakFara?" he asked solicitously.

"Yes, very tight," Garak snapped.

"There, there," Zbricacolvir crooned. "Better?"

Garak nodded as the pressure on his upper body lessened, but this was offset by the skirts wrapping around his legs and immobilizing him. He stood as still as he could, trying to balance, but this was also difficult as the arms of the gown were glued to his sides. He sighed, trying to feign exasperation to cover his terror as Zbricacolvir leisurely circled his helpless form.

"How seldom one finds a tame Cardassian," the pirate observed, carefully examining Garak's neck ridges. "Normally, I'm killing your kind. Normally, they deserve to be killed. But, can't get to know the dead very well, can you?"

"I've never given it much thought," Garak murmured. "Can you loosen this dress?"

"Yes."

Nothing happened. "Will you?" Garak demanded.

"Perhaps. What's the magic word, GarakFara?"

"Please," Garak sighed and felt the fabric release him. He stretched and wriggled slightly in the gown. "Oh, I'll take those," he said, reaching for his suit.

"I think not," Zbricacolvir said, gathering up the elegant ensemble. "I have several other gowns for you. All equally becoming; all equally efficient for restraining you, if that is necessary." He moved very close and asked, "Will that be necessary?"

"What?"

"Restraining you."

"It depends." Garak backed away.

"On what?" Zbricacolvir advanced.

"On what you want to do." Garak felt the wall behind him.

Zbricacolvir sniffed him, stared at his mouth and then turned and left the room without a word.

Garak slumped against the bulkhead and let a strange thought cross his mind: unlike Hobie's ship, this pirate's ship had no artwork.

Strong arms slid around his breastplate, holding him close against the narrow chest. Long, warm hands caressed his neckridges.

Garak arched his back to give Julian a better angle to slip into him. He winced slightly as the Terran's slick cockhead popped inside.

"All right, Elim?" Julian whispered, his voice hoarse with desire but still in control and willing, waiting for him to be ready.

Ah, such gentleness always melted Garak. "Yes," he sighed and surrendered.

Julian's rhythm was predictable but Garak found it comforting and pleasant. Ever considerate, Julian reached around him and stroked them to a strong, if not earth-shattering, climax.

Garak lay quietly in Bashir's arms, recovering and drifting pleasantly.

A grunt of unfamiliar laughter jolted him awake. He rolled over as Zbricacolvir rose from his seat on the bed and tossed him a towel.

"How tame you and your Terran are," the pirate snarled on his way out. But there was as much amusement and arousal as scorn in his tone.

Garak waited until his kidnapper was out the room to shudder. Panting a little, he wiped his cum off his belly. Had Zbricacolvir...? No, he hadn't been raped in his sleep. Not exactly; it was something worse, his memory had been pillaged.

"No more sleeping," he muttered, getting up and pacing the room. It was cold, so he put on the black gown, only thing he had to wear. He tripped over a pair of black fur-lined slippers by the bed and put them on, too. 'I must look absurd,' he thought ruefully and then began reciting all the poetry he could remember to stay awake.

The sun was warm on his face so he didn't open his eyes when he woke. Warmth; natural warmth and light. How he'd missed it on Terok Nor; how he missed it still. This little trip down to Bajor was a reward of sorts. Or a bribe; he'd not acquiesced until last night. Since the Terran had finally been clever enough to understand that he couldn't have him 'on the station', well, he ought to get some reward for his perspicacity and thoughtfulness. And the Terran had chosen well; an elegant, secluded cottage with reflecting pools and a moon viewing platform. Excellent taste; exactly suited for Garak's romantic streak and luxurious cravings. The perfect setting for him to surrender in. And surrender he had; graciously, gracefully and completely. The Terran had been impressed; and then had impressed Garak with the most tender lovemaking... He shivered slightly, but certainly not from cold. A shadow crossed him. "No; leave it open," he murmured.

The bed dipped as the Terran sat down, careful to stay out of the light dancing on Garak's closed lids. "As you wish it, Elim," he murmured, caressing a neckridge.

Garak could feel his blush rising as the warm alien hand made its way down his arm to his belly and caressed his erection. How good, how fine all this warmth and light and tenderness was to an old and weary exile. Ah! What gentle lips bit down hard on his neck as he came.

/Perfect/

Perfect. It was perfect. He stretched a little and returned the kiss pressed to his lips. Briefly, he considered opening his eyes and decided it was too much trouble. He knew what Memphis looked like; no reason to... Memphis. Bajor. Reflecting pools. Cottage. DS9.... Pirates. Zbrica...

/Sleep/

He knew what Memphis looked like; no reason to wake up at all. Contented, he went back to sleep.

Zbricacolvir removed his fingers from the meld points on Garak's head and sat up.

'Johnny Memphis,' he thought, rising and drawing the covers over the exhausted Cardassian. 'You and Johnny Memphis.' Looking down at Garak, the pirate could only wonder what depths of charm he was not being treated to if his guest could seduce, or as it appeared in Garak's memory, allow himself to be seduced by Starfleet's Commander Memphis.

Zbricacolvir could understand Garak's attraction to the weakling Doctor Bashir, but Memphis was an alpha male and had earned the pirate's esteem over the years.

Leaving Garak deeply asleep, Zbricacolvir went to the bridge.

"You look troubled," Ouyulia, his First Mate said, handing over the bridge. He listened quietly as his Captain graphically related Garak's memory. "Perhaps this Cardie is a good thing." He grinned at Zbricacolvir's scowl. "Well, if Memphis liked him..."

"I don't want to annoy Memphis and his people in Starfleet," Zbricacolvir said flatly.

"What about Wiskott-Aldrich?" Ouyulia asked. "He's Starfleet."

"Not from the Starfleet I worry about. Wiskott-Aldrich is a fool; Memphis is not," Zbricacolvir snarled. "If this is Memphis's 'girl', that casts it in a new light. I'd rather not be on his bad side."

"Yet you've not qualms about provoking the Talljets."

"No, I understand them, I can fight them, I have no respect for trash like them. I like Memphis; I'd rather not damage his property. Too much." Zbricacolvir said. "Memphis is also comrades with those madmen in the S system, Doxoru and Rubicion."

"Them's that rather fight than pay the pass-by fee?"

"Aye. Remember, was Memphis who settled our dispute with them."

"What I remember is that we agreed to let them pass for free," Ouyulia said carefully. "More's like we lost that dispute because Memphis convinced...."

"Convinced me it was in my best interest not to fight madmen," Zbricacolvir snarled. "Sound advice; one needs sound advice now and then."

"Aye, Captain, aye."

"How long to Czlyovia?" Zbricacolvir asked.

"Two days."

"Czlyovian days?"

"Yes.

"It will be good to be home."

"Yes."

"......Cccczlyovia......."

"No." SaDobra slumped his seat.

"...yessss..."

"What's Ccccccczl....," Bashir tried to ask.

"Zbricacolvir's main planet," Djerian told him. "Directly in the center of his very well-defended Autonomous Zone."

"Are you sure?" SaDobra demanded.

Yrit and Gvo looked at him.

".....Izzzzzera fiiiive...."

"......no courssssssse change......."

"No course change?" Djerian asked suddenly. "Why the hell....."

"....no coursssssse change......" The hunters turned away.

"Why the hell would Zbricacolvir take GarakFara to Czlyovia when the logical and reasonable thing to do is to take him to Izera 5," SaDobra finished Djerian's thought. "Except that Zbricacolvir must be insane to try to start a system-wide war."

"Not mad to start it if he thinks he can win," Djerian said quietly.

"I've heard of Izera 5," Bashir said.

"Have you?" SaDobra politely commented.

"Yes, there's some kind of dispute between you Talljets and Zbricacolvir over it," Bashir continued. "But I don't see what Garak and I have got to do with it."

SaDobra deferred the answer to his elder, Dr. Djerian.

"The reasonable thing to do, in this very unreasonable case," Djerian said slowly, "would be to take Mr. Garak to Izera 5 so Hobie and Zbricacolvir could fight over it again. Several years ago Zbricacolvir took it from the Tossarian Autonomous Zone, which is Hobie's empire, and we've been trying to get it back ever since. In addition to that, Zbricacolvir has been taunting Hobie over it for years. Stealing your Garak was merely a means for Zbricacolvir to lure Hobie into a fight." Djerian glanced at the cockpit and found Yrit and Gvo staring at him with a hint of skepticism on their bland faces. "Don't you think so, Yrit?" he asked the Pholana.

".....yessss..... lure........ trap......"

"......bait...... yesssss......"

"Bait?" Bashir asked sharply.

"Can you understand them, Dr. Bashir?" SaDobra asked.

"Of course, they're speaking Standard, aren't they?"

"I thought they were speaking Vulcan."

"And I thought they were speaking Pholanian," Djerian said.

They all looked at the hunters, who shrugged and looked away, thus signaling the end of their interest in the conversation.

"Bait?" Bashir asked again.

"Who knows what they meant," Djerian said, also weary of the conversation. He, as well as SaDobra, were weary in general as they were shielding Bashir from as much of the energy drain Yrit and Gvo were drawing from them. Eating them, put bluntly; simply because they were there. Absorbing their lifeforce emanations the way humanoids absorb heat and vitality from sunlight.

"We could ask them what they meant," Bashir persisted.

"That's not a good idea," Djerian said. "They look like they're in a bad mood."

"If we have to steal GarakFara out of Zbricacolvir's fortress," SaDobra said in that peculiar cranky fashion one hears occasionally in Shirkar, "I'll be in a bad mood, too."

They were silent. SaDobra stole a look at the navigational display. He could read it because Talljet shipyards had built the ship they were in. "What's afra, Djerian?"

"afra? The planet?"

"Yeah. That's what we're on course for."

Djerian looked hard at Yrit, who did not look back. "AFRA!?"

"....afra...."

Lying limp beneath his lover, Garak reviewed his 'to-do' list for the next day while Xriet pounded away on top of him. The Gul was a typical Cardassian alpha male; he wanted to totally dominate his partner. At this stage in their lovemaking, any participation on Garak's part would have seemed like rebellion.

So, Garak, who'd already gotten off (Xriet at least made sure of that before the main event), lay quietly and allowed himself to be dominated. He felt safe with Xriet because he was safe: physically, emotionally, financially. Even sexually safe; the Gul would never ask him to do anything unusual or difficult. If he was bored, well, his life was full of these little trade offs now, wasn't it?

At last, the precision of Xriet's thrusts began to falter and, after a last lunge or two, he came and collapsed onto Garak. The Gul murmured a few grateful words and nipped at the nearest neckridge, before rolling off and falling asleep.

Garak rose and went into the bathroom. He rinsed off and let the heat sink into his scales. Upon consideration he decided he didn't need the regenerator as Xriet had been tired that evening and not terribly energetic. Returning to bed, Garak stretched his sated body a few times and drifted off to a contented sleep.

'Legate Xriet as well,' Zbricacolvir thought coldly. 'What is it about you, GarakFara?' he wondered, looking over the exhausted Cardie.

Sleep was the easiest time for Zbricacolvir to invade Garak's consciousness and plunder his memories. Well, only the interesting ones. But even in sleep, the Cardie's telefields were a tangled, snarled mess and the pirate forced his way through them. There was damage, but so what? The Vulcans would call these nightly visits rape, but so what? The Vulcans were too boring for words.

At any rate, what did the telefields of one elderly Cardie boytoy matter in the larger scheme of things? Not at all. And if Zbricacolvir could sell him to Xriet, the Legate wouldn't know it was damaged goods. Hobie would know; any telepath would know. But Zbricacolvir doubted Garak would ever see Hobie Talljet, or any Talljet again.

Following Yrit and Gvo though the bustling streets of afra, Bashir was trying to understand what Djerian had told him about the planet:

"When little Pholana children have nightmares," Djerian had said. "Their parents ask them if they've been to afra."

The Terran simply could not understand what was supposed to be so frightening about afra. Even Djerian and SaDobra seemed puzzled as well.

The little band went into a tavern and Gvo said something to a barmaid that Bashir could not understand. They were ushered into a plain room with a balcony. Stepping out on the balcony, Bashir saw nothing but a sea surrounding them; the city had vanished. He went back into the room, intending to look at the tavern to verify it, and discovered the door they'd come in had merged back into the wall.

"Dr. Djerian," Bashir said firmly. "We were in a city and now we're in...." he looked out the window, where there had been french doors. "A desert," he said, seeing the sea had also gone. "And I can't quite comprehend..." he trailed off as the beaded curtain, in the wall where had been and then there had not been a door, was parted and a tuxedoed Andorian wheeled in a tray of food, laid it out and, after being tipped by Yrit, withdrew. "Um..."

"Dr. Bashir, we are all seeing different things here," Djerian explained. "We're in the sargassospace. Subjective reality thins out in this part of the galaxy. Where you Terrans are from, except in certain high mountain areas, I'm told, reality stays pretty thick."

"......pity that....."

"........yessss.....sssssshame....."

"Possssibly," Djerian lightly mocked his hosts. "If you let your mind wander, you can see your fantasies."

"Or nightmares," SaDobra added. "I can't even shield here, Djerian."

"Not in the Vulcan way, no," Djerian agreed. "You can focus on some part of your body if it gets too weird. We know our physical form isn't going to get messed with here."

"So far," the VulCheq said darkly, jerking his chin at Bashir.

"What are you seeing out there, Doctor?" Djerian asked the Terran, who was staring at the wall where there had been a vidscreen once.

"I'm seeing Garak in his shop," Bashir said, enchanted. "I'm staring through the windows, just as I did when we first met..."

Djerian glanced at Yrit and Gvo, who were also watching intently. "Time lines overlap here too, Doctor, you might actually *be* staring into Garak's shop when you first met."

"But I'm here," Bashir insisted, not looking away from his happy memory.

"...everything isssss here....."

"....and not here......"

"This food seems real," SaDobra said, fixing a plate.

Bashir's vision or memory or mirage or whatnot faded and he turned back to the room. "I hope so. I'm famished."

"Yes, we haven't eaten in days, have we?" Djerian said, filling plates for both of them.

"I guess not," Bashir said, around bites. "I hadn't even noticed."

/you were beginning to weaken/

The three travelers started at the voice in their heads.

"...ssssorry...." Yrit sighed.

".....we are weary too....." Gvo agreed softly.

"Why are we here, Yrit?" Djerian asked in Pholana.

"....waiting for Hobie...."

"To do what?"

"...assssemble his warssssshipssss...."

"Did you know this was not going to be simple?" It was a question, but Djerian made as much of an accusation out of it as he could.

".....temper....." Gvo warned.

".....didn't know.... until Zbricacolvir didn't change coursssse.... wanted him to go to Izzzera 5....."

"But he didn't," SaDobra concluded grimly. "And now we have a war to fight."

".....Hobie'ssss war....."

"Whatever," Djerian said, flopping down on a couch that was just the right length and width for him and that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Just wake me when the next thing is supposed to happen." He glanced over at Bashir, already sleeping on a similar piece of newly manifested furniture. "Dobra, I recommend you think up a bed and get some sleep."

"Sound advice, Doc," the VulCheq said, curling up on his own divan and going out like a light.

There were evenings when Julian purred and sighed and was pleasantly vague. Garak had divined early in their romance that this simply meant the doctor wanted to be topped for a change. Always happy to oblige, he slid gently into his lover and rested a moment. Bashir wisely let Garak set the pace of their joining when he was the passive partner. Garak could appreciate that, and held the Terran a little closer as he began to fuck him with long, smooth....

"Wake up." Zbricacolvir hauled him halfway out of bed. "We are arrived."

"Where?" Garak asked, pulling his heavy wool gown and fur-lined boots on.

"Czlyovia." Zbricacolvir smiled briefly, showing some jagged teeth. "My home."

The pirate tossed a cloak over Garak and hustled him to the shuttle bay. When they were seated in the craft, Garak recognized the pilots as the two beings that transported into the DS9 docking bay with Zbricacolvir. 'Was it only a few days ago?' he thought, realizing that between trying to stay awake and collapsing into sleep, he'd lost all track of time.

The taller, leaner of the pilots was frankly staring at Garak. He said something in the Patois that made Zbricacolvir laugh and yank the neckline of Garak's gown down. "A present for your eyes only, Ouyulia," the pirate laughed in Romulan.

"A good neck," the taller one, Ouyulia, said in Kardasi.

"Where did you learn your, Kardasi?" Garak asked, so not to feel like a thing.

"Ibadravi," Ouyulia snarled and turned away.

"What did you ask him?" Zbricacolvir whispered and frowned when Garak told him. "His homeworld or whatever you Cardies have left of it."

"I did not choose where he was born," Garak snapped.

"Temper, GarakFara," Zbricacolvir soothed (making Garak's scales crawl). "You want to make as many friends as possible while you're here. Now you know Ouyulia's homeworld is a bad subject. In fact, most things Cardassian are a bad subject with Ouyulia."

"He might not wish to be my friend, then," Garak said coolly.

"To get what I think he wants," Zbricacolvir said, confidentially. "It does not matter if he is your friend... or not."

Ouyulia appeared to be ignoring them, so Garak decided to ignore everyone as well.

The little ship was surrounded by whiteness that Garak had assumed was clouds. He was somewhat startled when they landed with a bump and he found himself surrounded by snow. Snow and buildings constructed of white stone. The only contrast was the little knot of Zbricacolvir's people who came out of the white fortress to greet them. They were dressed in tawny colored furs over their black wool garments. He were escorted through the snow fall into to the fortress.

Garak was relieved of his cloak in the overheated interior. It was dark and humid in the building; swamp-like and much to Garak's liking. He said nothing about this as his soaked boots were replaced with a new pair. 'How thoughtful,' he mentally snarled.

"We must keep you in good condition, GarakFara," Zbricacolvir growled at him. "You have even less value to us dead." The pirate jerked his chin at Garak and two burly humanoids shepherded him up two flights of stairs, into a small room and left him there.

A brief exploration of the room and bath yielded nothing but a few readers in Romulan, Klingonese and Kardasi and towels. Garak looked out the slit-like window at the colorless landscape. He wondered if the room were soundproof or if the snow caused the silence. Deciding this was a pointless train of thought, he distracted himself with the readers for several hours.

Or it seemed like several hours went by before a meal was brought to him. A wiry humanoid limped in with a tray he slammed on the table and left without a word.

'Not many conversationalists among Zbricacolvir men, he thought, picking over the casserole-thing that was his dinner. It lacked flavor so Garak gave up on it. Realizing that Zbricacolvir would be too busy right now to torment his dreams, Garak lay on the bed and, after a few tosses and turns, went to sleep. His last thought was that he hoped he would wake up if Zbricacolvir came into the room.

"You'll catch cold in those wet things."

Garak turned to see who was speaking from the shadows. He'd darted into the neighbor's stable to get out of a sudden Romulan downpour and, even in his heavy work clothes, he was indeed soaked to the scales.

A large Rom groom stepped forward, holding a Gnarsa blanket to him. "You can dry your clothes by the stove," he said. "Once you're out of them."

Shivering, Garak peeled off his wet clothing and wrapped the blanket around himself. He found a seat on a bench near the stove where his clothes were drying and accepted a mug of tea from the Rom. "Are you Tymat?" he asked, remembering he'd exchanged nods with this person once or twice.

"I am. How'd you know?"

"One of our grooms said you were the best Gnarsa trainer he'd ever seen."

"Which groom?" Tymat asked, sitting next to Garak on the bench.

"Syrab." Garak watched Tymat smile. It seemed like an arrogant smile to him but all Rom smiles seemed arrogant to him. He'd not been on Romulus long enough to discriminate.

"Syrab and I had a bet once on our Gnarsas," Tymat said slowly. "I won, but just barely and it was luck. Syrab's a better rider than I am, but he pushes his mounts too hard so they fade in the last bit of the course." He looked Garak over carefully. "Are you still cold?"

"A little," Garak admitted. He had assumed Tymat would turn up the stove, but the Rom put his arm around him and pulled him close. He was immediately warmer (Roms have a higher body temperature than Cardies), perhaps this was an energy saving measure.

"What's your name, little one?" Tymat asked.

Garak wasn't sure he liked being called "little one", but the Rom was bigger than he was. "Garak," he said and listening to Tymat struggling with the Cardassian consonants, took pity on him, "Elim is my first name."

"A better name; easier for we poor Roms to say," Tymat said, leaning close and pressing his lips lightly to Garak's. Not a kiss; merely contact. "Elim," he repeated, moving his lips against the Cardassian's. He did this twice more until he felt Garak relax and then he did kiss him; slowly, carefully and thoroughly.

A few more kisses and Garak allowed himself to be led to a secluded pile of soft hay. It was quiet in the stable, all the other grooms were out with their Gnarsas. And dark there, too, as Gnarsas are calmer in dim lighting. Perfect for new lovers, just learning each other, and, in Tymat's case, instructing a novice, however willing.

Although thoroughly prepared, Garak tensed when Tymat entered him.

"Shhhhh, all right, Elim?" the groom soothed.

/hold him, dammit/

/steady ouyulia stay in the memory/

"There, there," Tymat crooned, as he eased all the way in. "There."

Garak relaxed under the gentle Rom's weight and surrendered to his rhythm. It was a little uncomfortable but not, he supposed, bad for his first time. Still, it was a relief when Tymat climaxed and lay panting on top of him, crushing him... ...? Had he...?

/ah!/

/happy?/

/very thank you zbricacolvir/

...a relief when Tymat climaxed and lay supporting his weight on his elbows and keeping Garak warm with his body.

"All right?" the groom asked.

"Yes, very," Garak said softly.

"I have a small confession to make," Tymat said a little while later.

"What?"

"Syrab and I had a bet about you," the Rom said watching Garak's face for signs of anger. "About who'd get you into bed first." He was greatly relieved when Garak began to laugh. "What's funny?"

"That you and Syrab compete over Gnarsas and Cardassian gardeners," Garak chuckled.

"Only the pretty ones," Tymat said in his defense.

"Gnarsas?"

"No! You, Elim, you."

Garak sighed happily and dozed off curled up in this new, his first, lover's arms.

A while later in Zbricacolvir's fortress, Garak woke up screaming and bolted into the toilet to vomit and wash Ouyulia's cum and sweat off him.

It made Memphis suspicious that Rezdi, with Catanya in tow, arrived on Czlyovia on the same errand at the same time as he did. What made him really suspicious was that they were welcome there.

Memphis felt his flesh crawl as Zbricacolvir and Ouyulia entered the room.

"What brings you here, Memphis?" Zbricacolvir asked with some civility.

"Elim Garak."

"He's not here."

"Oh, come now, Captain Zbricacolvir, the whole quadrant knows you grabbed Garak and brought him here." Memphis was not in the mood to fence. He wanted to get Garak and get gone.

Zbricacolvir turned to his other visitor. "What do you want, Rezdi?," he asked, staring hard at Catanya and his green fur coat.

"Same thing," Rezdi drawled.

"Who's your client?"

"Legate Xriet."

"A ransom?" Ouyulia asked.

"Goodwill for the future," Rezdi said, blandly. "Give us Mr. Garak and you might have one."

"Talljet wit," Ouyulia spat. "Very funny. You, Memphis?" he asked the commander.

"Me, what?" Memphis asked.

"Ransom, bribe, threats?" Ouyulia demanded.

"Nope," the commander drawled. "I just want Garak back, no hard feelings..."

"No regrets, no repercussions, no tears," Rezdi finished for him.

"How interesting," Zbricacolvir snarled, circling the JirCheqs. "And your Uncle is not interested in all this?"

"Which one?" Catanya asked sweetly.

"HOBIE."

"I dunno," the dancer sighed. "Ain't asked him."

"Why not?" Zbricacolvir loomed very close to Catanya.

"Because he'd kill us if he knew we were here." Catanya met Zbricacolvir fierce stare blandly. He'd seen this look on so many faces, male, female and androgen. More rage than lust, but enough lust to work with. "And we're too young to die."

"We would like to take Mr. Garak to Xriet," Rezdi said quietly. "That would make several people very happy."

"Who?" Ouyulia asked.

"Well, Xriet and my bankers mainly," Rezdi admitted. "And if you want to continue to provoke Uncle Hobie, you can give me Garak and I'll never say a word. Xriet can be very discreet; Garak will be well kept and a well kept secret."

"And you and Uncle can work it out however you do," Catanya drawled at Zbricacolvir. "I really don't care." He switched his vision to emanations to watch the pirate's telefields flare around him. 'Strong bastard,' he thought warily.

"How fares your Uncle?" Zbricacolvir asked.

"I really don't care," Catanya repeated, casually scanning for a weakness, a chink in his empathic armor and finding none.

"Dunno," Rezdi said. "I suppose he's busy planning the war you started."

"Hobie started this war when he lost Izera 5," Zbricacolvir snapped.

"Well, however it started," Rezdi allowed. "He's busy with it and I haven't heard from him."

"He didn't send you here?"

"Hell, no."

"Did Hobie send you, Memphis?" Ouyulia asked.

"I only work for Starfleet, Ouyulia." Memphis was getting tired of the banter. "Are you going to give me Garak, Zbricacolvir?"

"Why should I?" the pirate asked.

"It will make me and Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich happy if you do," Memphis answered blandly. "And a happy Wiskott-Aldrich is a beautiful thing." He listened Zbricacolvir grunt with laughter and realized he would not be leaving there with Garak. "Can I see him?"

"Us, too?" Rezdi asked, having just had the same realization.

Zbricacolvir and Ouyulia exchanged shrugs.

"Hochofedra," Zbricacolvir said. "No harm in seeing." He led them deep into the fortress and up several levels to Garak's rooms.

Catanya suppressed a cry of pain when he saw GarakFara's telefields. It was obvious that the Cardassian had been raped repeatedly and received no empathic healing for it.

"I will leave you to your reunion," Zbricacolvir snarled, departing with Ouyulia.

Garak rose, he was shaky from exhaustion and unsure if he was dreaming that Memphis, Rezdi and Catanya (in his dreadful fur coat) were actually in the room with him. "Johnny?" he asked, hoping he was real.

"Yes, Elim," Memphis said gently, taking Garak into his arms and soothing him.

"Take me out of here," Garak said, starting to shake. "Take me anywhere but here."

"Working on it, Elim," Memphis said, reaching for his communicator.

"There's an etherwave block around this compound," Rezdi blandly informed him. "Even if you could contact your ship and get on board, how far would you get with Zbricacolvir fleet in orbit?"

Memphis slumped but held Garak closer.

"And do you really want Starfleet in this pirate feud, Johnny?" Rezdi continued. "Your and Garak's death would be just be the right thing for Wiskott-Aldrich to go to war on. And it's bad enough as it is."

"Elim, as soon as I can I'll come get you, I swear," Memphis whispered. "What the fuck is your Uncle doing, Rez?" he angrily turned on the JirCheq.

"I've no idea," Rezdi shot back. "D'you think he'd tell me? I'm not to be trusted, remember? I can get to Zbricacolvir, no sweat..."

"Rezdi," Catanya said. "Fucking calm down." He moved close to Garak and applied healing energy to part of his telefield. The effect was minimal, Catanya had never developed his empath skills, but it did seem to help a little.

Rezdi snapped out of his pique and came to help him.

Memphis looked on as they worked. He didn't trust either of them any farther than he could throw them but he believed they wouldn't hurt Garak. Why they were there, what the stakes and what they were risking was as much of a mystery as ever, but whatever the scam, their first priority was to get Garak away from Zbricacolvir. So far they, like Memphis, had failed. The commander felt Garak relax into a doze and tightened his arms to keep him upright. "Shhh, it's all right," he soothed when Garak woke with a start.

"No... no sleeping," Garak mumbled.

"Why?"

"Zbricacolvir, when I sleep... my dreams... memories..."

"The bastard," Rezdi hissed. "We're going to get you out of here, Mr. Garak, I swear."

"Yes." Catanya stepped back to survey Garak's telefields and took off his coat. "Yes. I'm not leaving, Rez."

"Oh, yes you are, Cat. If I..."

"No, I'm not leaving," Catanya said firmly. "He won't last like this."

"And what can you do?" Rezdi taunted.

"Shield him, heal what I can, but mainly distract Zbricacolvir from him," the dancer countered.

"Oh, c'mon, Cat, don't be ridic..."

"Rezdi, if I can't get Zbricacolvir's attention, then I've lost any reason to live," Catanya drawled. "Now, shut up, here he comes."

It turned out to be Ouyulia. "Time to go," he sneered, advancing on Memphis and Garak.

"I'd like to stay, Mr. Ouyulia." Catanya smiled wickedly. "Tell Zbricacolvir he's got another house guest, if he's willing to let me dance for my supper."

Ouyulia stared at him for a full minute before he said, "I'll tell him," and left the room.

"That was pretty lame, Cat," Rezdi said.

"Let's see what happens," Catanya murmured, working on Garak's telefields again. "You can help, Nolo, if you've nothing better to do."

They worked until they heard Zbricacolvir's boots in the hall. They felt Garak shrink into himself when the pirate came close.

"So, you want to stay, little one?" Zbricacolvir cooed, lifting Catanya's chin with his finger.

"I do," he answered simply.

"What's your name?" Zbricacolvir asked.

"Catanya."

"Ah, the little Talljet named after the big Klingon warrior," Zbricacolvir said sourly. "Like your parent, you danced as well as you whored."

"And I've surpassed my parent in both areas," Catanya said, meeting Zbricacolvir fierce gaze with a level, calm one.

A long moment went by before Zbricacolvir began to roar with laughter. "Well said, Fara. Well, well said. Then stay you will. Dance you will. Tonight you will." He turned to Rezdi and Memphis. "You others; get out."

Feeling Garak grasp at him, Memphis whispered, "Elim, I've got to leave you. Hold on. Hold on until I come back." He drew back enough to see Garak nod and press a kiss to his lips. Reluctantly, Memphis let go of his Cardassian.

Unobtrusively, Catanya put himself between Garak and Zbricacolvir. He winked at Rezdi as the gambler and Memphis were herded out by Zbricacolvir and Ouyulia.

"Tonight you dance, Fara!" Zbricacolvir yelled, slamming the door behind him.

Catanya blew out a relieved breath and helped the collapsing Garak into a chair. "Hold on, Mr. Garak, hold on." He watched the Cardie nod and thought this was a very courageous being before him. 'Hold on, GarakFara, hold on. If not Rezdi, then Memphis and if not Memphis then Uncle. And if not any of those, then our old, dear friend death will rescue us. Never fear.'

"You make me nervous, Rez," Memphis said once they were out in the snow.

"You're nervous? I just left my noli in the belly of the beast," Rezdi shouted, fumbling for his communicator. "Don't talk to me about nervous, Johnny." He vanished in a transporter shimmer.

Memphis was still trying to figure out if Rezdi was sincere or acting; it was very hard to tell. "What?" He looked across the table at Doxoru and Rubicion on the unmarked ship they'd brought him to Czlyovia on.

"I said 'what now?'," Doxoru repeated.

"We try to find Hobie and see what he's doing to rescue Garak," Memphis said vaguely. Close proximity to Zbricacolvir always discombobulated him for a while. "Aside from Xriet, the Cardassians couldn't care less."

"Not a bad thing," Rubicion said. "Cardies have a habit of turning a scuffle into full scale war."

"Ain't that what Hobie and Zbricacolvir are doing?"

"Pirate wars are different from sovereign system wars," Rubicion smiled. "The Federation is happy to ignore pirates killing each other as long as they do it in the Autonomous Zones. There's so much bad blood with the Cardies over Bajor, just to name one of their conquests, the Feds might have to side with Zbricacolvir *if* the Cardies picked a fight with him."

"That's a disgusting thought," Doxoru said. "If I had to save Zbricacolvir or the Devil from a burning house..." He trailed off in Rubicion's laughter.

"Tough call, Cousin, tough call." Rubicion shoved more Cira whisky at Memphis. The Commander looked rather peaked to him. "So the Cardies ain't in it."

"Nope, and neither is Starfleet." Memphis sipped his drink and frowned.

"We're nowhere near this situation," Doxoru agreed.

"I myself am home in bed," Rubicion said firmly. "Alone."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the lift, fellas." Memphis managed to smile for the first time in days. "This would be easier if Starfleet would at least lodge a complaint."

"Wiskott-Aldrich no help?" Doxoru asked.

"It's Wiskott-Aldrich Fleet is ignoring," Memphis said. "The admiral would like to get Garak back in one piece so he can finish the deal. He thinks it all hinges on Garak."

"Sorta does," Rubicion said. "Hobie's not likely to finish the deal with Wiskott-Aldrich until the Garak business is settled."

"How d'you know Fleet's not interested in Garak's safety?" Doxoru asked, just to be thorough.

"I checked, they could care less about this particular Cardassian citizen." Memphis finished his drink and let Rubicion pour him another.

"Even Section 31? Those monsters would love to get their paws into Zbricacolvir's Autonomous Zone," Doxoru persisted. "Any Autonomous Zone, really."

"Section 31 is too busy chasing their tail, when they're not terrorizing honest citizens, to know where the action is," Memphis spat, recalling several Section 31 messes he'd had to clean up. "Besides, no empath or telepath is twisted enough to work for them, and that's the only way to get a wedge under the Patois speaking pirate clans." He watched the cousins nod. "You two ought to get out of it; it's not a Fleet show and there'd be hell to pay if they found out."

"As I said, we're nowhere near it," Doxoru assured him. "Officially, that is," he added with a smile. "Unofficially, we are so sick of Zbricacolvir raiding our supply ships and patrols, we were on the very verge of taking the bastard out ourselves."

"Truer words were never spoken, Cousin," Rubicion said supportively.

"Why not tell Fleet about the raids?" Memphis asked.

"There's official recorded complaints in every report since Wiskott-Aldrich cozied up to that nightmare," Doxoru said bitterly. "Fleet ignores it; could care less about a bunch of GE freaks defending..."

"If not expanding," Rubicion put in.

"... their frontier," Doxoru finished. "Hell, Johnny, if we can ride on Hobie's coattails and firepower to blow Zbricacolvir off the grid; sounds like a damn fine idea to me."

"Do I hear an AMEN!" Rubicion shouted.

"Amen," Doxoru and Memphis said.

"So where to we find HobieFara?" Rubicion asked.

"If I were Hobie," Memphis speculated. "And I were going to war, I'd be somewhere between Zbricacolvir's least defended space and my big, bristling shipyard on the Lydirian frontier."

"Makes sense," Rubicion observed.

"Yeah, good thing we're already headed that way," Doxoru said dryly. "We should be with Hobie in a few days, if his directions were worth a damn. He said he'd love to see us and talk about Garak."

"You talked to Hobie?" Memphis asked, stunned that Hobie would trust comms over the etherspace.

"Relayed through Master Ghet at the Gozshedrefreingin Commune," Doxoru said.

"Well, that sounds more normal," Rubicion said. "Hope it's not a trap."

"Me, too," Memphis agreed and turned to Doxoru. "Why didn't you tell us this?" he asked.

"You didn't ask me."

"We're almost ready. A few more days." Hobie looked past the hunters at his nephew, his doctor and Bashir sleeping like the dead, suspended in the middle of, well, nothing, really.

"...daysssss....."

".....time issss not an isssssue for ussss.... pirate....."

"I don't like it you took them to afra," Neria said from another part of the comm screen.

".....hochofedra...."

"It's done, Neria," Hobie said, cutting off any lingering discussion. He was busy and in a hurry to get back to organizing the invasion of Czlyovia. "We just need another few days."

"....asssss long assss you want..."

".....time hassss no meaning...."

"Right," Neria snarled, knowing if the invasion failed, the hunters would simply kill SaDobra, Djerian and Bashir and go on their way as if nothing had happened. Or worse, let them slip away into the shifting nothingness that is afra, into god knew what, into... He shuddered; Neria was a brave man, but some horrors are too much to contemplate. "We'll be ready in a few days."

"......your war....."

"........Hobie'ssssssss war......"

"Whatever," Hobie snapped. "Sooner started; sooner done." He and Neria ended the comm together.

"......hochofedra........"

The hunters turned their attention to Bashir, tossing on his couch.

"I've only heard of them," Jadzia whispered. "They have businesses here, but never live here."

"Then what are they doing here?" Bashir asked, trying not to stare into Quark's.

"I don't know. Picking up their mail; saying hello to Quark; seeing how bad it's going to be with Starfleet running the station. You know Benjamin had their things moved out of the largest suite so he could take it. Perhaps they've just come to see if the movers broke anything." Jadzia shrugged. "Kira's already had a go round with ThiaZole and got the worst of it."

"How so?" Bashir was curious as how one could argue with a creature like ThiaZole. In the time he'd been watching, ThiaZole had hardly moved, only to take a sip of his drink.

"She said it was like arguing with the dead. In that the dead know everything but aren't telling," Jadzia said. "Apparently, ThiaZole merely said that he and Mr. Garak were residents of the station, be it DS9 or Terok Nor, and if Starfleet was going to begin dispossessing legal and lawful residents of territory under their jurisdiction, then perhaps he, ThiaZole, should contact his attorneys now rather than later."

"And did he?"

"I don't know, but soon after that Benjamin told Kira to leave them alone," Jadzia continued. "He told Odo not to interfere unless they did something odd."

"Odd? Like what?"

"Well, the gossip is that they're spies," Jadzia said in a low voice. "Garak for the Cardassians and ThiaZole for the Cvomians."

"Do you believe that?"

"No. I think they're just rich and bored," she scoffed. "At least ThiaZole is rich. Dukat said Garak came here a penniless exile and let the Cvomi pick him up. The funny part is that no one knew ThiaZole was rich. According to what Odo could find out, he's from a fancy Cvomi family and made his money in shrewd, but just this side of legal, investments when he wasn't treating Cardassians for dysecdysis." She let her gaze wander over Garak's fur clad figure. "He seems to be taking very good care of Garak. That coat alone is worth a fortune."

"The station temperature would be colder than a Cardassian would like, Jadzia." Bashir said, neutrally. He was unable to take his eyes off Garak. "That's probably why he's not taking his coat off."

"It's still quite a coat," Jadzia insisted. "And Odo looked around their suite before the movers came and he said it was beautiful."

They fell silent, staring at the Cvomi and his concubine. In Quark's, Garak laughed at something the Ferengi said, ThiaZole's long, bony white hand caressed his silky black hair and leaned toward the ridged ear to whisper into it. Garak finished his drink while ThiaZole settled their bill. The Cardassian waited patiently during the transaction, scanning the Promenade, his glance fell on Bashir and lingered. Mysterious, luxurious, exotic, spoiled - Bashir could not make his mind put negative connotations on those ideas when applied to Garak, as he was seeing him in Quark's. The Cardassian was everything Bashir would never attain, never understand and always want to have and know.

Or perhaps it was just a flash of longing for the freedom and pleasure-loving joy he saw in Garak. These were also things Bashir would never have in his effort to be "normal" and to fit into Federation society. Yet, here was his ideal, only a few meters from him, but the gulf between them was infinite.

Their communion only lasted a few seconds, but would stay with Bashir a lifetime. The doctor hardly listened to Jadzia's commentary as ThiaZole shepherded Garak out of Quark's and out of sight.

Bashir woke with a start and found the hunters watching him. He tried to act natural but his dream had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

"...ThiaZole...." Gvo sighed. "....mosssst beautiful...."

"....yesssss.... wisssse Garak to go with him....."

"You saw my dream?" Bashir asked softly, hoping not to wake Djerian or Dobra.

"....yessss... we sssee everything in you....."

"....not dream.... alternate time line reality...."

"....reality linesssss overlap here, too....."

Bashir sat back to think about this. Could Garak have loved and been happy with ThiaZole? They never seemed fond of each other. Perhaps this timeline branched off well before he'd met the Cardassian. But still, could Garak love and be happy with anyone but Bashir? Impossible. Or was it? Or... "What now?" he asked, returning firmly to the present.

"...go back to sssleep..."

"....sssssssleep...."

"Is there a...?" Bashir began, but Gvo's wave at a door in the wall, where there had not been a door before, answered him. He rose, feeling a heaviness in his legs and wondered how long he'd been asleep. The head was simply that, with a window, a sink and some towels. As Bashir urinated, he looked over a desolate, empty landscape and thought it looked the way he felt. He could not imagine a life without Garak; it was impossible, he thought, watching the twilight descend on the moonscape before him. He shook himself back to the present (or whatever this was), washed his hands and face and returned to his couch. Nearby, Djerian and SaDobra slept on peacefully. Someone or thing had put a small table with a glass of water by his couch. It was just what Bashir wanted and he drank it, feeling a little like a child with thoughtful parents. He cast a surreptitious look at Yrit and Gvo, but they seemed to be in some deep meditation or trance and looked like so much like statues that Bashir could not bring himself to disturb them. Or perhaps the idea of their attention at that moment was just too frightening for him to face just then. Either; the doctor was too tired to worry about it and went to sleep.

"They didn't leave much did they, Chief?" Bashir said to O'Brien as they surveyed the trash strewn decks of DS9, formerly Terok Nor.

"Not much to leave, Doctor," O'Brien said dourly. "Just a military installation; nothing to leave behind."

"No," Bashir mused, looked at the empty, cavernous spaces of his new home. "Nothing."

Bashir woke with a start.

"...another look...." Yrit sighed

".....a life you have....." Gvo hissed gently. "....you live without GarakFara...."

"....poor GarakFara....."

".....poor Basssshir.... but you don't know what you're missssing in the other life....."

".....all sssseemssss normal in the other life....."

"I just want Garak back," Bashir said simply. "I just want this life, with him."

The hunters were silent and motionless for so long, Bashir wondered if they had gone to sleep. But just as he was about to turn his attention to something else a whisper glided though his mind:

/you shall have that life/

"Have a drink, ThiaZole, it's on Commander Memphis," Quark leered over Bashir's shoulder.

"What are we celebrating?" the Cvomi asked, accepting a champagne flute.

"I married Garak this afternoon," Memphis told him.

"At last? Did you drug him or hold him at phaserpoint?" ThiaZole drawled.

"Neither, Mr. Zole. Garak simply came to his senses and realized what a catch I am," Memphis said proudly.

Because ThiaZole intimidated him, Memphis was more brusque and boastful with him than he was with other males. Memphis was quite tender and gentle with Garak, who did not intimidate him. Much. Or at least those were the rumors Bashir had heard since coming to DS9.

"Or perhaps you caught him in a mellow and malleable moment of ecdysis, Commander," ThiaZole said, pinning the Terran with his shaded gaze. "However it was done, I approve and I salute you." He raised his glass in an elegant gesture. "To Elim Garak," he said. "Shall he change his name to Memphis? I certainly hope not."

"He could hyphenate it," Quark suggested. "Memphis-Garak."

"Or Garak-Memphis," Memphis said firmly. "No, he shall remain Elim Garak."

"One of the better, more melodious Cardie names, I grant you," ThiaZole said, accepting a second glass. "Where is he? Are you secluding him as some cultures do?"

"Heavens no, Mr. Zole, what do you take me for?" To his credit, Memphis only buckled slightly under the Cvomi's scrutiny. "He's packing. We honeymoon on Bajor for a few days and start looking for something more permanent."

"On Bajor?" Bashir asked, surprised that Memphis would consider trying to live with Garak on Bajor after the Cardassian occupation. Nothing against Garak, but his species was justifiably loathed on Bajor.

"No, on Tagra 3 in the S System," Memphis said, finishing his wine. "I've been reassigned to Fleet Ops there. Wiskott-Aldrich wants me to keep an eye on Rubicion and Doxoru out there and I want to settle down for a while."

"Can't say I blame you," ThiaZole deadpanned. "I'm sure Garak will make you very happy."

"And vice versa," Memphis smiled.

Bashir sat bolt upright, fully awake, yet the dream still vivid.

"....no dream...."

".....real.... realer than now...."

"You all right?" Djerian leaned over his coffee to ask.

"I think so," Bashir stammered. "Weird dreams. Did you have weird dreams?" he asked.

"No, no dreams at all," Djerian said, examining him. Switching his vision from color and form, and then to energy, and then to emanations; he frowned at the links - one from Yrit and one from Gvo - spiking through Bashir's telefields and even his body, in an X, crossed at the doctor's solar plexus. Knowing there was nothing he could do at the moment, Djerian simply handed Bashir a cup of coffee and sat back to glare at Yrit.

"I didn't have any dreams either," SaDobra volunteered into the thickening silence. "But VulCheqs don't dream much."

"...not dreamssss... ...alternate timelinessss..."

".....ssssssee what might have been....."

"Yessss, what a dreadful treat for a Terran," Djerian snarled. "They have enough trouble with one reality."

"Doesn't everyone, Djerian-olio?" SaDobra laughed.

"Hochofedra," Djerian snapped, shrugged and returned to his contemplation of Bashir's condition. The hunters would have to let go of the doctor and Djerian hoped they would be willing to do that when the hunt was over. They might become overly fond of him (Bashir did have certain admirable qualities, even Djerian was willing to admit this), and decide to keep him as a pet. 'Hochofedra,' he mentally shrugged. 'What's one Starfleet doctor more or less?' And yet, it just didn't feel like that was in the cards. On the other hand, if they failed this hunt, they would probably all die, and the point would be, at the very least, moot.

"....we go...."

"Where?" Bashir asked, rising with the others.

".....Czzzzzlyovia...."

"To rescue Mr. Garak," SaDobra said, glad to be on the move again. "Where else?"

Garak looked up from his reader when Catanya came in.

"How are you holding up, Mr. Garak?" the dancer asked.

"Better."

"Sleeping?" Catanya carefully eased himself into a chair. "No dreams?" He shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position, finally gave up and stood.

"I am sleeping better and no dreams," Garak said. "You look like hell, Catanya."

"Rough night, Mr. Garak. I'll be all right in few hours." Although Garak's telefields were getting a rest from Zbricacolvir and Ouyulia, they were still in tatters and Catanya began to work on them. "We empaths heal up pretty fast once we start to heal."

"You're keeping them off me," Garak stated, looking around at his savior. "Why?"

"They were killing you."

"That doesn't explain why you're risking your life for me, Catanya," Garak said softly.

"This is my one good and unselfish deed, Mr. Garak," Catanya said lightly, wincing at the pain in his ass, legs, back... "Allow me to enjoy it."

"I hope I am worthy of it," Garak said with a shadow of his old sarcastic self.

"Whether you are or are not," the dancer said, finally sinking down in exhaustion. "At least *I* have made the effort. Perhaps God will notice that and judge me less harshly."

"Mraht." Garak said softly, placing a pillow under Catanya's head.

"AmChiera AmChiera AmChiera," Catanya murmured himself to sleep at Garak's feet.

"Well, now, there's something you don't see everyday," Doxoru breathed as they came out of warp in their unmarked starship.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything like this," Rubicion commented, standing beside the center chair.

Memphis was silent beside him. If Doxoru's scanners were correct, there were ten thousand, seven hundred and eleven warships heading for Czlyovian space.

If Rubicion's sources were correct, there was an equal number of Zbricacolvir's warships waiting for them there.

"Seriously bad, Cousin, seriously bad," Doxoru said.

"Bad for Zbricacolvir," Rubicion said tartly. "Now that we're here, he's doomed, I tell you, DOOMED."

"I hope so," Memphis said, finally rousing himself when Hobie's face filled half the viewscreen and Neria-Tza's the other.

"You Terrans are a long way from the S-system," Hobie drawled. "Got your message from Maja; as you can see, we probably don't need any help."

"You might need a credible witness, Captain Talljet," Memphis said over Doxoru's and Rubicion's bluster.

"How so, Commander?" Neria asked.

"Fleet has noticed and taken an interest in Dr. Bashir's disappearance," Memphis told him. "You might need someone to explain it all away when the time comes."

"Would that be you, Commander?" Hobie asked.

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed," the pirate said and was thoughtful for a few moments. "Why don't you and Rubicion beam to my ship? I have some ground invasion issues you can help me work out, Darcy."

"A pleasure, Hobie," Rubicion said suavely. "Of course, you realize, we were never anywhere near all this."

"I never saw you," Hobie agreed. "Neria, give Dox those eighty Tarian ships that decided to join us."

"What are the Tarians doing in this, Hobie?" Doxoru asked. "Not that I mind; they're good fighters but not a big pirate clan."

"Same as you; they hate Zbricacolvir enough to risk it," Hobie said.

"Tarians, Bchians, Yhonians, Idrizians, just to name a few, came out to join us when they heard we were sailing against the bastard," Neria added. "You're a godsend, Doxoru, we weren't sure what to do with those ships."

"I was never here, gentlemen, but it will be an honor, sirs, an honor," Doxoru said, heading his ship over to the eighty feisty little Tarian ships

Bashir stared into the blackness before him. No sense looking around; he'd done that and knew he was surrounded by it. He felt more than saw Yrit near him, the sensation ebbed like music on a shifting breeze.

...where are we? Bashir thought...

...in the void..... the words seemed to come from the place Bashir thought Yrit might be...

...what is it? the void, I mean....

...everything and nothing...

....we must find Garak...

......we have failed......this is the now for now.....

...?....

.......your terran body is dead.....this is the now until the wheel turns this now for the next now.....

.....but Garak......

......this now is now.....surrender.....

Gentle hands caressed his brow and a well known voice called his name. "Julian, wake up, you're dreaming, wake up." Bashir curled into Garak's arms and let him soothe away the nightmare.

Garak's arms became the hard arms of a flight seat and the doctor opened his eyes to find Yrit studying him. He held the MageCheq hunter's gaze until Yrit looked away.

"Are you all right, Bashir?" Djerian asked softly.

"I've been having the strangest dreams," Bashir admitted reluctantly. "They started on afra."

"Tell me them." Djerian was hoping to damp down his anxiety with information. Unfortunately, the more he heard, the more concerned he became. "These are not dreams, Bashir," he said when the Terran had finished. "The hunters have anchored themselves to you in this plane of existence so they can use you to track Garak. Ordinarily I think they would do this with the residual energy Garak left on an inanimate object, but since they don't have that, they're using you. I only hope they know what they're doing..."

"...we do... have sssssome faith in usssss...." Gvo hissed at him.

"I have the same faith in you as I have in the fact that death will over take me when death is ready to take me, Gvo," Djerian said evenly. "Death is inevitable, but I've been able to ignore you and Yrit thus far." He watched Gvo shrug and turn back to the craft's instruments.

Something vaguely resembling a chuckle came from Yrit's vicinity.

"I don't understand what's happening then," Bashir said.

"Oh, Gvo is trying to be friendly and it's just not his strongest suit, really," Djerian said vaguely. "I mean, if we were to meet socially, I might be able to chat with him, but I simply can't imagine either of them over cocktails or..."

"....nor I....." Yrit said.

".....no never...." Gvo agreed with him.

"So..." Djerian began again.

"No, I meant I don't understand what's happening to me," Bashir interrupted. "To my dreams."

"Oh. Those aren't dreams, Bashir," Djerian said. "In your waking state you have enough belief in reality thus far that you're able to sustain it..."

"'Reality thus far'?" Bashir quoted.

"Yes, you Terrans live in reality based on what was immediately before and what you naively assume will be immediately after the present moment of your existence or your now," Djerian explained.

"What?"

"Look at it this way." Djerian thought up what he thought was a good example. "When you walk from the Infirmary to your quarters, how do you know that the Infirmary still exists once it's out of your line of vision, any more than your quarters exist until you get there?"

"Because..." Bashir looked around the four beings watching him with interest. He felt like a schoolboy about to fail an oral exam. "The Infirmary and my quarters do exist?"

"Only because you are accustomed to believing they exist and it is mostly your belief that keeps you moored in the reality you are accustomed to generating for your temporal body's existence," Djerian said. "If you practiced certain ancient esoteric exercises even known on Terra, you might, with time and god's blessing overcome the illusion of what you perceive as reality."

"Mightn't we all, Dje?" SaDobra asked.

"Yes, but most of us, at least three of us in this craft, have simpler objectives and were born with nervous systems and temperaments more attuned to a mono-reality based existence." The Pholana smiled at Bashir. "We just want to explore the mysteries we have a decent shot at understanding and get hot meals now and then. But the MageCheqs of the galaxy are different. They are finely attuned to the infinite tones and colors of reality, the larger reality that encompasses everything and nothing. The void that is the now that is now."

"And what has this to do with me?" Bashir asked, watching SaDobra shudder and the hunters nod.

"You? Oh, you; well, your puny human telefield is linked to the hunters' gigantic, reality cycling empath fields. I've never done it, but as a Pholana and with the proper training, it would be possible for me to pick up tele-emanations from other time lines and other reality lines. However, I would lose my healer abilities because such trainings are mutually exclusive." Djerian paused to watch Yrit's and Gvo's energy flow harmlessly through Bashir. Usually when a hunter did this, it was to drain the energy out of a being, but that was not the case here. He was a little unsure what the case was but there was nothing he could do about it. "So, what's happening to you, Dr. Bashir, is that when you're awake your rational, reality predicting mind is keeping you anchored in this reality with me and Dobra. But when you sleep, your consciousness is zipping around the cosmic and incomprehensible mind of god with Yrit and Gvo, who are also riding the waves of the void." Djerian let his gaze wander to Yrit. "And hopefully they are keeping track of you in all your beingness."

"...yesssss...." Yrit sighed "......very careful....."

"Yrit was in my dream..." Bashir began.

"....no dream...."

"Or whatever, today."

"Pholana empath energy is just slightly more harmonious with the Terran central nervous system than Cvomi energy," Djerian explained. "That's why the Pholana have more contacts with the Federation than the Cvomi."

Bashir glanced nervously at the CvomiCheq Gvo. "ThiaZole scares the hell out of me," he said quietly.

"And poor TZ is just a shell of what a Cvomi is," Djerian said sadly. "A MageCheq Cvomi is a Cvomi times infinity."

"......poor ThiaZole......" Yrit mourned.

".....yesssss... and poor usssssss...... very dull looking after this Terran child......." Gvo sighed ".....but necessssssary....."

"......yesssss....."

"So, my dreams..." Bashir began hesitantly, trying to understand all this.

"Are not dreams," Djerian said firmly. "You're either seeing another time line or the future of this or another time line. MageCheqs don't bother much with the past unless they need some understanding from there." Djerian glanced away from Bashir's puzzled face into Dobra's puzzled face. "What's wrong with you, VulCheq?"

"My parent and uncles are MageCheqs," he said. "I don't think they time travel or reality step."

"No, the Talljets have that practical rom-vulcanoid mongrel half that keeps them better centered in the mutually agreed upon now," Djerian told him. "They also had those fancy Vulcan educations that taught them how to keep both feet on the ground. I think Maja's vistas are larger than your parent's or Jir's or Hobie's."

"Uncle Maja is the most cosmic of them," SaDobra agreed. "Why d'you suppose that is?"

"He's the most surrendered to the will of the mind of god, I think," Djerian said. "When he does manipulate events, it's with great mindfulness and clarity of vision."

"......Massssster Ghet......" Gvo sighed approvingly.

"......mossssst exccccellent Massssster Ghet....." Yrit agreed.

"Why is he more mindful?" SaDobra asked.

"He's more attuned to his Mage abilities. He has a better idea of how incomprehensibly huge the universe is, he is surrendered to the play of the infinite soul-mind. When he allows himself to be, Maja is in the flow of the cosmic river," Djerian said. "The other Talljets keep themselves busy making money and building empires so they needn't be aware of the infinite soul-mind all around them. They don't have as much faith in the rightness of things to let go of what little control they have over things."

"Is this because Uncle Maja has a life in religion?" SaDobra asked.

"Partly because he has more time to pray and meditate," Djerian agreed. "But mostly because he's courageous enough to look at the dark and light sides and not flinch from the fact that they are the same. That all is all. Also, he was mauled by Yrit and Gvo when he was rescued against his will from the Tziviian Autonomous Zone, where the tele/empath-energy cut some new channels in his psi-fields. Trying to fight off the hunters did some damage to his defenses, but losing to them, having to surrender, reshaped the way he processes reality."

"How do you know all this, Dje?" Dobra asked, impressed.

"....yessss.... how.....?" Yrit asked, concerned.

"Sometimes mysterious wounds open in Maja's psi-fields," Djerian said. "As if the soul-mind wishes a more direct communion with him. These wounds are a tremendous drain on his physical state and I've been called in once or twice to heal and sustain his body so it doesn't die until the wounds close, which they do eventually of their own accord. That's why there's always an empath healer, usually a Cvomi, in the Gozshedrefreingin Commune."

Everyone except Bashir nodded. Bashir commented rather tartly that most physicians do not discuss their patients.

"Very true, Doctor, I am greatly remiss." Djerian could barely keep the mirth out of his voice. "One should never discuss the mysteries of the universe and name names."

"....go back to ssssssleep Terran.... or sssssshut up....." Gvo hissed.

".......leave him, Gvo, leave him be....." Yrit sighed, drawing his partner's attention back to the void.

Djerian handed Bashir a bottle of water and SaDobra politely introduced a topic of general conversation, croquet strategy, which lead to a discussion of what they all did for fun and relaxation. Cosmic subjects were left behind, or rather loomed large around, their island of gracious calm.

There were even able to mostly forget the hunters, seated like statues, at the controls of the craft.

"Maja, I'm on the verge of all out war and don't have time for a social call," Hobie said testily once Maja and Tien had beamed aboard from their transport. "Hullo, Tien," he said, giving his favorite nephew a one-armed hug.

"This is hardly a social call, Hobie," Maja said quietly, as they strolled into Hobie's warship. "You are on the verge of war for reasons that frankly elude me; Starfleet thinks someone has kidnapped Dr. Bashir, as you might know, Doxoru and Rubicion have gone missing and, although they've covered their tracks very well, it's only a matter of time before Wiskott-Aldrich twigs that they're in this and drags the Fleet in, and last but not least, our Ling is frantic because he's lost contact with SaDobra and just where the hell is the VulCheq?"

"afra," Hobie said, deciding he'd have to come clean with his Noli.

"AFRA!" Maja howled in the middle of the corridor.

"He's dead?" Tien asked, puzzled that he'd not felt it.

"No, and he won't get lost; he's there with Yrit and Gvo..." Hobie began.

"WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING WITH YRIT AND GVO IN AFRA?"

"Maja, calm down," Hobie said sternly. "He's with Dr. Djerian and Dr. Bashir, too." He ushered them into his minimal warship dining room.

"In afra, also known as the SOUL'S WAITING ROOM, with the pair of docs, DJERIAN AND BASHIR, and MR. DEATH AND MR. SUFFERING and you want me to CALM DOWN?" Maja paused to take a breath and sink into a chair. "Okay; I'm calm. Now tell me, Nolo, what is this fucking madness?"

"I've hired Yrit and Gvo to help us rescue Garak," Hobie said, pouring his Noli and nephew a glass of wine.

"Fine, they grab him off wherever Zbricacolvir took him and they're home for dinner," Maja said, recalling Yrit's and Gvo's stealthy brilliance.

"Zbricacolvir's taken Garak to Czlyovia," Hobie said.

"So? More difficult but doable," Maja said.

"Um, we didn't have anything Garak had touched," Hobie said, bracing for a blast. "So we gave them Bashir."

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?"

"Not that I'm aware, Noli," Hobie said evenly.

"And why was Bashir where you could give him to those ghouls?" Maja said, reining in his temper.

"Dr. Bashir stepped into Neria-Tza's transporter beam when Zbricacolvir grabbed Garak off of DS9," Hobie told him. "A brave and stupid Terran act if I ever see one."

"Dr. Bashir is very much in love with Garak, Hobie," Maja said. "Nothing he would do to get him back or keep him would surprise me. And shouldn't surprise you if you had your mind on this and not something else," he added acidly.

"Like what?" Hobie snarled.

"Like making a war we don't need," Maja snarled back.

"I didn't make this war, Zbricacolvir did," Hobie said.

"And you've got ten thousand ships to fight a war over," Maja leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Hobie, "Elim Garak?"

"Of course," Hobie growled.

"That," Maja said, leaning back. "Would make the Vulcans laugh."

"We're beyond motives, Maja. Hochofedra," Hobie shrugged.

"Then God be with us," Maja sighed. "Mraht."

"AmChiera," Hobie and Tien answered.

"By the way, Uncle," Tien said in the tense silence. "Why is SaDobra in afra with Dr. Bashir and Dr. Djerian?"

"He volunteered, really insisted on accompanying Dr. Bashir," Hobie said and turned to Maja. "I did everything I could short of bodily restraining him, Maja."

"I'm sure you did, Nolo," Maja said with more affection. "It's that damn impulsive Vulcan blood I'm sure made him do such an insane thing," he added archly.

"Yes, those VulCheqs are a dangerous lot," Tien deadpanned. "And Djerian? Did he go Vulcan alla sudden or what?"

"He went to protect Bashir and Dobra, I suppose," Hobie said. "Neither of them would listen to reason."

"Well, Djerian is a Pholana," Tien said. "He might have better communication with Yrit. Uncle, in Dobra's place, I would have gone with Bashir..."

"Like hell," Maja cut in.

"No, I would have, and you would not have stopped me any more than Hobie stopped Dobra." Tien quiet voice held so much passion Hobie and Maja backed off. "Bashir truly does love Garak. It's not madness or vanity or obsessive, it's a profound love, two souls who've found each other at last."

"Ah, poetry, from my VulQuad," Maja began sarcastically.

"Because we've never experienced such love, Master," Tien said levelly, "does not mean it does not exist."

"Touché, my little one," Hobie murmured. "And why are you telling us this?"

"Let us dedicate our war, Uncle, for it is *our* war now, to Bashir and Garak's love and commit ourselves to their happiness," Tien said, enunciating very clearly. He watched Hobie and Maja exchange puzzled looks. "Let us dedicate our effort so when you've taken Zbricacolvir's Autonomous Zone and all its riches, we can console ourselves with the fact that we had loftier goals than pure greed and lust for power."

"Catanya, come with me, NOW," Rezdi insisted. They stood in Zbricacolvir's grand hall.

"No."

"They're killing you," Rezdi said, switching his vision to energy fields to see the damage in Catanya's. "Decked out like a whore, too."

"I dance in this," Catanya informed him, shifting in his beads and feathers. "It's a perfectly excellent costume to dance in."

"Just come with me," Rezdi was reduced to begging. His second sight was telling him something terrible was about to happen, but not what. His only thought was to grab Cat and get as far away from all this as possible. "I practically sold my soul to Zbricacolvir to be able to take you away."

"Well, I hope you kept the receipt so you can get your money back because I'm not going with you, Rez, just fucking accept it."

"They're killing you," Rezdi repeated helplessly.

"It's worse for GarakFara without me," Catanya said gently. "I can't leave him here. They let me stay with him when they're done with me."

"Cat..."

"Can we take Garak with us?"

"No."

"Then pray for us, Rezdi." Catanya turned and walked away.

The gambler stood watching him go. He had a bet with himself that Catanya would not look back and was irrationally pleased to lose it when his noli smiled at him from the top of the stairs before he turned the corner and was gone from sight. Rezdi stood smiling lamely and thinking furiously about how he was going to get Catanya and get gone, when Zbricacolvir himself tapped him on the shoulder. "Yes?" he said, nearly jumping out of his skin.

"No luck?"

"You've bewitched him, Zbricacolvir," Rezdi said, his stomach turning. "He will not leave you."

"Liars, both of you," Zbricacolvir snarled, flattered nevertheless. "It's GarakFara what's bewitched him. I warned you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Stay tonight," the pirate suggested. "It's late; too bad, you've missed the dancing. You can try to reason with him in the morning."

"Not a bad idea," Rezdi said, agreeing. "By the way, were the hell is everyone?" He waved at the deserted hall, usually the busiest part of the fortress.

"Ouyulia has taken most of our Fleet to engage your Uncle's ships," Zbricacolvir said, examining him. "I'm surprised you didn't know this."

"My family keeps me poorly informed," Rezdi told him. "We both like it that way. So, why are you here?"

"I'll join them tomorrow," Zbricacolvir growled. "If there are any Talljet scum left to fight," he added menacingly.

Rezdi fought down what minimal family pride existed in him and simply said, well, they'd find out tomorrow, wouldn't they? He raised his shields to their fullest extent to keep Zbricacolvir out of his consciousness while he slept. Pity the unshielded sleeper in that fortress of nightmares.

Zbricacolvir nodded and called for an underling to escort his guest to a bedroom. It was late and the pirate needed sleep for tomorrow's doings.

"That's a lot of ships," SaDobra said, watching Zbricacolvir's fleet heading away.

"Yes, fortunately going in the opposite direction," Djerian observed. "Is that why we went to afra?" he asked Yrit. "So we'd be on the right side to sneak up on Czlyovia?"

"....one reassssson....."

"And the other reason?"

"....make Bassshir sssssstrong enough....."

"I thought so," Djerian said, looking at Bashir reading peacefully in the back of the vehicle. "Will this kill him?"

"....no...."

"......what point in that, Pholana....?" Gvo asked, sounding annoyed. "....we are to get GarakFara for him.... ....death issss ussselesssss...."

"Oh, I don't disagree, Gvo," Djerian said, realizing there was more to this now than he, and certainly Hobie, had realized. He moved away nervously. "Not in the slightest."

".....SsssaDobra....."

"Yes?"

"....when we are inssside Zbricacolvir'ssss fortressss...."

"......you mussst help usssss ssssecure it....."

".....a battle..... outsssside..... ....we ssssafe inssside......"

SaDobra would have asked logical questions like, how do we get inside? what about Zbricacolvir's guards? what battle? aren't we just going to get Garak and go? but he had a feeling the hunters were so far ahead of him, they were remembering to ask him to do something that has already happened. His logical VulCheq mind rebelled against this, but since he'd surrendered himself to their care, his faith in the overall situation asserted itself and he merely said, "I'll do my best."

".....yessss..... ....you did......"

"Hey ho here we go," Hobie sang as Hobeia swung his thousand robot ships into formation against Zbricacolvir's fleet. "Hang back everyone, unless the mothership is in danger."

He got affirmatives from Neria, Doxoru, Bot and SaKoszt in their command ships.

There was no answer from Hobeia in the hubbub of command voices but the black ships began their assault with the ease and grace of a courtesan raising a teacup to her lips.

"I wish I knew where Rezdi and Catanya were," Tien said, watching his cousin bring his robot ships into battle formation. He sat next to Maja, also watching the battlelines form on a viewscreen on a lower deck of Hobie's command ship.

"I'd rather know where Yrit and Gvo are," Maja observed. "I think more than we realize depends on them."

Tien said nothing, but glanced at his parent, who was too intent on the coming battle to notice.

/what silence/

Watching the hunters glide their cloaked ship unnoticed through the ethernet surrounding Zbricacolvir's fortress, SaDobra nodded at their skill. They'd known the exact and optimal moment, when Zbricacolvir's defenses would be focused on Hobie, to slip in unnoticed.

".....Bassshir....."

"...ssssstand between ussss...."

A moment later the hunter had their trail and were off.

Djerian thought the fortress was surprisingly empty, the hunters felled the one or two awake dwellers prowling the halls, as they made their way up several levels and deep into Zbricacolvir's domain.

Lucky for Catanya, SaDobra recognized him, sleeping in a chair, before the hunters "rechanneled" his life-force. "Catanya," he sighed, careful not to wake Garak, in the bed.

"Dobra? Dobra? Are you a dream?" Catanya clawed at him desperately, there had been so many rescue dreams that were just dreams. "Are you real?"

"As real as you are," SaDobra told his cousin. "We're going to take you and Garak home."

'And not a moment too soon,' Djerian thought, examining Catanya's damaged psi fields.

/what monster did that, Djerian?/

'Zbricacolvir.'

"....a pleasssure to eat him then...."

Julian leaned over Garak's sleeping form. "Elim," he said softly. He gently shook the Cardassian's shoulder.

"Just let me sleep through it, please," Garak sighed.

"Garak wake up, please, it's me, Julian."

"Don't you tire of this, Zbricacolvir?" Garak snarled, burrowing under the covers.

Catanya rose from his chair and tugged at the blankets. "Mr. Garak, it's real; they're real. Come out of there," he whispered.

"Real?" Garak asked the dancer.

"As real as you and I are," Catanya assured him.

"Julian!" Garak flung his arms around the Terran and dragged him into bed. "I thought I'd never see you again," he hissed.

"You thought wrong, Elim," Bashir said, stroking his lover's hair. "You thought wrong."

"Djerian, SaDobra," Garak said, looking around at his rescuers. "And some, ah, beings I don't know."

The hunters turned away from the group around the bed.

"....sssstay here....."

".....all of you....."

".....sssssshield........"

They left the room, closing the door behind them.

"What the hell is that about?" Catanya asked.

"They're going to kill everyone," Djerian said, placing himself between the bed and the door.

"Won't they need help?" Catanya logically asked.

"Not the way they do it, no," Djerian said. "Shield, children. Mr. Garak and Dr. Bashir, I guess you'll just have to think happy thoughts or something."

"How are they killing everyone?" Catanya asked, shielding nevertheless.

"I hate that question, Cat," Djerian sighed.

"I'd like to know, too, Dje," SaDobra said.

"I only know in theory because I'm a healer not a hunter," Djerian said quietly. "I'm told they can reach into the energy fields of any being they encounter and reverse the life force or drain it or simply redirect so the physical body dies."

"And no messy blood on their hands?" Catanya asked, starting to feel a sharp pain in his solar plexus.

"No, not as far as I..." Djerian just barely had time to catch Catanya, who'd flung himself at the door. "You CANNOT go out there!"

"Rezdi! He's here! I thought he left, but he's here! They're killing him!"

"SaDobra! Help me," Djerian called. Together they were able to drag the writing JirCheq back to the bed.

'Rezdi...'

Hobeia froze in the cocoon of the mothership as his noli's dying moments suspended him. He did not writhe or struggle; he simply ceased to be.

"Oh my god," Hobie said, coming out of his command chair. "HOBEIA!"

"The robot ships have stopped firing, sir," Otoz uselessly informed Neria. "I feel this is serious."

"I agree, lad," Neria said. "Byrizya, open a channel to Doxoru, Bot and SaKozst."

"Done, sir."

"Bring your ships up," Neria ordered. "Protect the mothership until she's back on line." He watched the formations converge on Hobiea's ship and fight off Zbricacolvir's fleet. "Open a hail to Hobeia."

"Done."

"HOBEIA! WAKE UP AND HAND OFF TO ONE OF YOUR CREW!"

"What's happened?" Tien asked, doubling over from the pain in his solar plexus.

"I've no idea," Maja said, drawing him into his arms. "What do you feel, little one?"

"Rezdi..."

"What about him?"

"I think he's dying."

Maja looked up at the viewscreen and saw part of Bot's ship explode. 'Oh god.'

"BOT!" Pierced and in agony, Hobie yelled helplessly from his ship. "Abandon ship, Bot! SaKozst! Hold your position!" He turned to his pilot, "Full ahead!"

"Give me a channel to SaKozst, Byrizya!"

"Done, sir!"

"SaKozst, hold your position! Otoz full ahead, keep us beside Hobie. Doxoru, you're on your own with the fighters on the starboard side." He switched channels and bellowed: "HOBIEA," just in time to see Bot's and SaKoszt's ships take direct hits and explode.

SaDobra arched his back but managed to bite off his own scream as SaKoszt's death coursed through him.

With Garak's and Bashir's help and all his Pholana strength, Djerian was able to hold both of the thrashing JetCheqs down and in safety.

Tien arched in Maja's arms and screamed.

Maja held him, slumped in his own misery as he watched the space clear where there had been two ships, where there had been Bot and SaKozst and their crews and now there was nothing. He hung on to Tien thrashing in his arms because it was the only thing he could hang on to just then.

As Ling and Polmira screamed themselves awake on Vulcan, Jir's agony was abating. Rezdi was dead and there was nothing but an ache where there had once been a bond, however imperfect, to his child.

Jir pulled himself upright and sent waves of love to his remaining children and let the tears stream down his face.

Stonet would find him standing thus when he emerged from meditation.

/Hobeia...Catanya/

Hobeia snapped out of his trance and back into the battle. Shielding from everything but the machine he was in, he whipped his robot ships around and hammered Zbricacolvir's fleet back. Punching a hole in their formation, he drove his eight hundred and five robot ships between them.

Doxoru's ships on the starboard side and Hobie on the port crushed the panicking pirate ships between them and the robot ships. Neria divided his fleet and picked off the stragglers that tried to get away.

Seeing the battle turn, Ouyulia headed his ships back Czlyovia way. He would meet up with the rest of Zbricacolvir's fleet that would, by now, be on its way to join them and together they would finish the Talljets forever.

Catanya regained control of himself first and helped Djerian calm SaDobra.

"What happened?" Djerian asked.

"SaKozst," SaDobra said shaking.

"And Bot, I think, too," Catanya added. "It's confused, but I think it was also Bot."

"Rezdi, Bot and SaKoszt." Djerian was shocked.

"Bot and SaKoszt were quick, like they never knew what hit them," SaDobra said, feeling more sure it was Bot.

"And Rezdi?" Djerian asked.

Catanya sighed. "Slow but painless for him," the dancer looked up with sad eyes. "He never woke up; he slept through death."

Garak shuddered and Bashir held him closer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Garak, I..." Catanya began and then, along with Djerian and SaDobra, rose in a fighting crouch as the door opened. He slumped, seeing it was Yrit and Gvo. He slumped and then lunged at them. "You killed him! You killed him!"

Djerian and SaDobra wrestled the sobbing JirCheq to the ground before he could kill himself. In the state Yrit and Gvo were in, contact with their telefields would mean instant death.

".....who?..." Gvo asked, setting a bundle on the table.

"Rezdi," Djerian told him.

"....here?...." Yrit asked, looking at Catanya.

"Yes." Djerian watched them 'listen' for a moment. He wondered to what reality they were listening or if they were just thinking.

/here/

/we did not see him/

/we were not looking for him/

"Bot and SaKoszt are dead, too, did you know that?" SaDobra asked, suddenly and illogically furious with everything.

Again the hunters *listened* for a moment.

/we only see what we are hunting/

/we only know what we are hunting/

/maybe only a little more but only maybe that/

Gvo removed the blanket from the bundle he'd carried in and held up Zbricacolvir's head by its matted locks for Garak to see.

"....no more ssssuffering GarakFara...."

"....no more pain Catanya...."

"No," Catanya sighed, looking up at the neat, laser cauterized cut that had severed their tormentor's head from his body. "You've done your job and then some," he added bitterly. "Are they all dead? I'd like to find my brother's body."

".....not finished..."

"No?" Djerian asked.

".....need SsssaDobra'ssss help....."

"To do what?" SaDobra asked, calming but still angry at everything.

"....fortresssss defensssssse controlssssss...."

".....mussst find...... musssst protect usssss......"

Catanya's little used and highly unreliable second sight kicked in. "An invasion," he snapped. "We aren't leaving because Uncle Hobie's going to take the planet."

"....exacccctly...."

"The cost is too high," Catanya snarled.

".....but already paid....."

"......rather die here, Fara.....?"

"Can't we just leave?" Catanya almost pleaded.

".....no.... not in this timeline......"

"Then, come," the dancer said, rising from the floor. "I know where everything is here. I made a point of finding out, and now I know why I made a point of finding out. C'mon, Cousin, we'll need your mechanical genius to figure these controls out." He left the room with SaDobra and Gvo in his wake.

"You're not going with them, Yrit?" Djerian asked.

"....no... ...can you help GarakFara....?"

"Catanya is in worse shape."

".....Catanya is sssssstronger....."

They watched Bashir comforting Garak. The lovers had almost made a world of their own.

With something of a start, Djerian realized if not a world, then at least an energy field. He glanced at Yrit, also watching, and switched his vision of emanations so he could see the lethal MageCheq energy pouring from the hunter into Bashir. In Bashir, it was transformed by his love for Garak into healing energy and was billowing and flowing into all the wounds in Garak's telefields and body.

"You're a wonder, Yrit," Djerian sighed.

"....it issss Gvo'ssss energy too....."

"You're both wonders. Why?"

"....sssssuch love issss rare.... .....sssssshould be rewarded.... ....nurtured.... ....cherisssshed...."

Djerian looked up at Yrit, who was watching Garak and Bashir with a tenderness the healer didn't think the most frightening creature he'd ever seen was capable of, and could not disagree. "Yes. Rewarded. Nurtured. Cherished."

".....ssssssusssstained....."

"Yes. Sustained."

"Head them off, Hobeia," Hobie ordered. He had fast ships and good pilots, but so did Zbricacolvir. It was hoped that the robot ships could cut off and destroy the Ouyulia's ships before they reached Czlyovia and could join up with the rest of Zbricacolvir's fleet.

So far they'd been leading them a good chase, but there was something inspired, if not demonic, in Hobeia's maneuvering of the robot ships. Each kill seemed to goad the ships to madness and rage shimmered in the void. Hobie stayed focused on the battle; it was better than thinking about Bot or SaKoszt.

Catanya led them quickly to a locked door in bowels of the fortress. "I hope this is the right place," he said, keying in Zbricacolvir's code.

"Looks like it, Cousin." SaDobra stepped over several bodies to a control panel that looked familiar.

".....underssssstand thissss...?" Gvo hissed.

"It's the same technology we use," SaDobra explained, glad to have something to take his mind off SaKoszt, Bot and Rezdi. "A little less current than ours, but one small problem. We need a thumbprint or retina scan."

Gvo reached into his cloak and pulled out a dismembered hand.

"I recognize that," Catanya said dryly, placing the thumb on the screen. "You ghouls think of everything."

".....not everything....."

"And now it wants a password," SaDobra said, slightly panicked. If this was the same technology, they'd set off a self-destruct sequence if they didn't provide a password in 30 seconds.

"C U N T B O Y," Catanya spelled for him.

"You're joking?" Nevertheless, SaDobra typed it in and was relieved to see an access menu come up.

"Zbricacolvir was a poor shielder," Catanya said coolly. "Especially during sex."

"You're my hero, Cat," the VulCheq leaned over and gave his cousin a kiss on the cheek.

"......sssssssssss!......"

"Okay, okay, Gvo. How much defense do we need?" SaDobra asked, familiarizing himself with the fortress defenses as quickly as possible. The defense system was simply laid out because Zbricacolvir never dreamed his own base would ever be attacked.

".....total defenssssse..... ...from land.... ....from atmosssphere....."

"An invasion," Catanya said, piecing it together. "But Ouyulia might come back with ships, or Uncle might get careless in the ground assault. Or we might even be smitten by the hand of god. Again." The dancer looked up at Gvo. "By the way, Mr. Gvo, what would you have done if I weren't here with floorplans and passwords memorized?"

"....sssssssomething.... .....different....."

"Okay, it's done." SaDobra checked the system once more. "Hope it holds. It's not designed to take much abuse."

"No, Zbricacolvir would have fled before he'd use it for what we're using it for," Catanya said bitterly. "On the other hand, maybe Uncle doesn't care that you and Djerian are here. Hell, if he knew I was here, I know he wouldn't care."

"I doubt that, Cat, but I'm not going to argue with you right now," SaDobra said in that annoyingly lofty manner they teach in Vulcan schools. "Let's go find Rezdi."

Catanya just nodded and led them to the last place he'd felt Rezdi's life force.

Waiting for Zbricacolvir to join them, the ships in orbit around Czlyovia were wondering why they could not raise anyone in the fortress.

They were still wondering this when Hobie's fleet annihilated them.

"Garak," Bashir whispered into his lover's hair.

"Yes, Julian?"

"Don't go away with ThiaZole."

"I had no plans..."

"But you did and are," Bashir insisted. "I know he's your lover and covers you with furs and jewels..."

"Since when?" Garak asked, becoming concerned for Bashir's mental state.

"Since before I came to the station," Bashir continued. "I'll get you a fur coat when we get back."

"I don't want a fur coat," Garak said, catching Djerian's eye. "Julian, I'd rather go to bed with a bundle of sticks than ThiaZole."

"And Memphis," Bashir said, half rising. "You have to divorce Memphis immediately."

"Darling, you're raving, I'm not married to Memphis," Garak said firmly. "Not that I'm aware of. Djerian, what's going on?" he demanded, looking up at the healer.

"He..." Djerian began.

"And where the hell were you when I arrived at DS9!?" Bashir howled, loud enough to rouse Yrit from his meditation.

"Julian, calm down, everything is all right," Garak assured him.

".....yesssss .....isssss well...... .....ssssshut up......." Yrit was trying to get some rest after his exertions.

"Bashir, please remember that what you've been seeing are alternate time lines," Djerian explained gently, running a calming hand along the Terran's temple. He withdrew it with a start feeling Yrit's and Gvo's energy there. 'I suppose the beneficial energy flow is only for Garak,' he thought. 'Clever these MageCheqs; lethal but clever.'

"'Seeing alternate time lines'?" Garak asked with a note of panic in his voice. "My Terran is seeing...?"

"Yes, but it's all right, Mr. Garak," Djerian explained. "He was seeing them within Mr. Yrit's and Mr. Gvo's consciousnesses."

"And who are Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo?" Garak asked.

"This is Mr. Yrit." Djerian waved urbanely at the MageCheq. "And Mr. Gvo is with..."

"My Julian was in the consciousness of.. of that?" Garak asked horrified.

"Shhhhh, Elim, it's all right, I'm here now, you're safe," Bashir crooned, soothing him.

"Yes, I hope we're both safe, my dear," Garak said, sinking into his lover's arms and putting aside his other questions for later.

"I think we're safe," Djerian said. "Aren't we?" he asked Yrit.

"........sssssso far........"

"Ah. Good." Movement in the snow outside attracted his attention and Djerian glanced out the window. "And these troops attacking the fortress are not something to worry about?" he asked.

".....not yet....."

"Ah."

"Blast as much as you can on the land mass around the fortress and then send down the ground troops," Hobie ordered his gunners. "Neria and Doxoru, have your ships take out the other land masses."

"Are we frying all the population centers?" Neria asked.

"Yes, except the fortress."

"I guess it's not really Rezdi anymore, is it?" Catanya asked, looking down at the body in the bed. "Just a piece of meat now."

"Still looks like him," SaDobra said softly. "Looks like he never even woke up."

"He could sleep through anything, anywhere," Catanya said and regretted it. This body might not be Rezdi but the memories of Rezdi were strong around it. "Well, I..." He made the mistake of looking up at Gvo, who accompanied them.

/The body's death is nothing. This plane is nothing. We are nothing. All that exists has always existed. Will always exist. You and your grief are nothing. Your suffering is nothing. Nor is your joy. Rejoice in the energy field you knew as Rezdi's freedom from the bondage of the body, of this plane, of want, of love, of fear, of hunger, of all that we must endure here. Rejoice. Soon the shell of blood and bone you call Catanya will wither and die and what is the truth of you, that you have run away from your entire life will be free./

Catanya jumped when SaDobra touched his arm and called his name softly. "What?"

"Should we move Rezdi's body?" SaDobra asked again. "We could be here for a few days. It might start to... um..."

".....rot....." Gvo supplied, not taking his attention off Catanya.

"Yes, rot," Catanya said, vaguely. "Rot along with the other dozens of dead in this charnel house." He looked into SaDobra's face and realized that he was frightening the youngest of the JetCheqs. Hell, he was beginning to frighten himself. "You, you're right, Dobra. Help me lift him..."

".....I will...." Gvo said, lifting the blanket-draped body with ease.

"Okay, thanks... thanks, Mr. Gvo," Catanya said, starting to shake. He got himself under control by gathering up Rezdi's loud suit, his hat, boots and a few other effects. "There's a stasis generator here somewhere, or if not, I know there's a big refrigerator in the kitchen."

".....lead on..... ......Catanya....."

On the way to the main hall, SaDobra noticed that even the rodents and domesticated pets had died of Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo. Had he not had such a thorough Vulcan education, he would have shuddered.

"They're broadcasting to surrender, Captain," Hobie's communication officer told him.

"No prisoners. Keep firing."

"Catanya, are there any fortress defenses?" Djerian asked when they returned to Garak's room.

"Like what?"

"Phaser turrets, photon mortars, boiling oil we could pour from the rooftops, something anything," Djerian said, watching the assault on the fortress become more frenetic.

"Just the force field." Catanya stood next to him, watching the fighters. "I guess, if they breach it, we could hide for a while. Make a stop at the armory before we do. It's on the way to some good hiding places."

"Are you worried, Mr. Yrit?" SaDobra asked.

"....no....."

"Mr. Gvo?"

".....no.... ....tired.... ....not worried....."

"Why aren't you worried, Mr. Yrit?" SaDobra persisted. Gvo frightened him, but Yrit seemed more approachable.

"....we live in thisssss timeline......"

"Oh, well, that's good," Catanya sighed.

"......or we die.... .....sssssame thing...... ....doesssssn't matter....." Yrit continued.

"Yes it does," SaDobra said reasonably.

"....not when you are dead......"

"Well, he does have a point, Dobra," Catanya said, putting his arm around his youngest cousin.

"I don't like his point."

"Just accept it."

"No."

"Children, please," Djerian scolded softly. "If I'm about to die I'd like to do it in peace."

They stood watching the fight and were disheartened when the number of combatants doubled. However, they bucked up when the new arrivals began to fight the warriors already there.

"I can't see that far, but I think those might be Uncle's men down there," SaDobra said, not bothering to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

"I do hope so." Catanya hugged him. "I do hope so," he repeated. Looking over SaDobra's shoulder at Yrit and Gvo, he found the hunters sitting in meditation like stone idols or the dead or both. Beyond them, on the table, Zbricacolvir's head lay swaddled in its coverings and Catanya dearly hoped that it, whatever it was, was worth all the death and suffering they were paying for it.

"I'll never doubt that weird saying they have in the Federation," Neria-Tza said to his first mate, as they watched Rubicion, in command of Hobie's ground fighters, clear the area around the fortress.

"What's that, sir?" Otoz asked politely. He was impressed as well.

"'If you want the difficult, send Starfleet. If you want the impossible, send a Marine.'"

"Catanya," Djerian asked, shaking his attention away from the battle outside. "Where are the communications here?"

"Near the swimming pool," Catanya answered absently.

"I suspect Hobie is in orbit," Djerian said, turning the JirCheq toward him. "Let's go see if we can't raise one of his ships and find out what's going on, shall we?"

"Should we leave Mr. Garak and Dr. Bashir alone with Yrit and Gvo?" SaDobra asked, glancing at the lovers dozing in each other's arms.

"I think we can," Djerian said. "Besides, what would you do if they started to eat them?"

"Object?" SaDobra offered.

"......ssssssssss......." Gvo hissed, bad tempered in the first place and irritated by this VulCheq pup's mistrust, after all they had done so far.

"........they are ssssssafe..... .....all are ssssssafe......" Yrit said, soothing his partner.

"......for now......." Gvo added darkly.

"Come, SaDobra," Djerian said, taking the VulCheq by the arm. "You'd just annoy them."

Yrit and Gvo lapsed back into their meditation when they had gone.

"Are you all right?" Maja asked, standing next to Hobie's chair.

"No."

"Could you turn your command over to...?"

"No, Maja. I have to stay together until this is over," Hobie said coldly. "How's Tien?"

"He's lying down. He was hit very hard," Maja said, examining Hobie's telefields for cracks and finding none. Perhaps the pirate didn't care or perhaps he was made of durasteel or perhaps he could postpone his suffering.

"Bot and SaKoszt; very bad," Hobie grated.

"And Rezdi or Catanya, Tien thinks," Maja said.

"Rezdi? How does he know?"

"I don't know," Maja sighed. "The JetCheqs are linked in funny ways. He thought it was Rezdi or Catanya dying that froze Hobeia."

"If the JetCheqs are linked, wouldn't Bot or SaKoszt feel Rezdi or Cat dying as well?" Hobie asked savagely.

"In battle, they might have been able to override it," Maja told him mildly. "Like you are now. But Tien was open to it and Hobeia is, was, directly related. And Hobeia loves, loved, his nolis more than anything."

"Then he should have kept better track of them," Hobie spat.

Maja watched a hair line crack appear in Hobie's cool and merely said, "So might have we all, Nolo, so might have we all."

"I swear to you, Maja, if this is all Rezdi or Catanya's fault..."

"What will you do, Hobie?" Maja snarled. "Thrash the dead? Scold Jir for his dead child?" He circled the command chair to face his eldest brother. "And as for this being all Rezdi or Catanya's fault, exactly all *what* are you talking about?"

"Get off my bridge, Maja," Hobie ordered.

"With pleasure."

"Dr. Djerian is hailing us from the fortress, sir," the communications officer carefully interjected.

"Maja, wait," Hobie said. "Is there a visual?"

"No, sir. The force field is jamming it, but we've got sound."

"Put them on," Hobie said. "Djerian? You live?"

"One of the few here, yes, but I live," Djerian's dry voice filled the room.

"And who else?" Hobie asked.

"Garak, Bashir, SaDobra, Catanya, Yrit, Gvo," Djerian listed. "Can you beam us out?"

Hobie's frown had turned to a scowl at Catanya's name but he managed to keep his voice calm. "No. Don't lower the forcefield. Let Rubicion secure the area and then we'll come get you."

"Darcy is out there? Well, I feel better already. Djerian out."

"Wait!" Maja cried.

"Master Ghet? And you here, too? How nice."

"Djerian," Maja said quickly. "Was Rezdi with you?"

"He's dead, Maja," Djerian said.

"How?"

"He was here when the hunters killed everyone."

"Why was he there?" Maja asked. "Djerian?"

"I'm sorry, we've lost them," the communications officer said. "I'll try to..."

"Never mind, the battle is heating up and interfering with the comms," Hobie said, intently watching the view screen. Rubicion was leading an assault on one of the buildings near the fortress. "We'll find out later about Rezdi," he said grimly. "Now, get off my bridge, Maja."

"So we wait for Uncle to join us here," Catanya said on the way back to Garak's room.

"Yes," Djerian agreed. "Where's Rezdi's body?"

"In a refrigerator in the kitchen," SaDobra said, seeing Catanya lost in thought. "We couldn't find a working stasis chamber."

"Just as well," Djerian said, putting his arm around Catanya, who'd slumped a little. "We won't be here very much longer."

Watching the battle from Garak's room, the smoke did seem to be clearing.

"Well done, Darcy, bravo!" Hobie said as soon as he'd finished materializing. Maja and Tien stood silently beside him, viewing the wreckage around the fortress.

"Your men are good fighters, Hobie," Rubicion said grimly, watching Doxoru, Memphis and Neria-Tza shimmer into existence. "'Scuse me," he said, going to talk to his cousin.

"Yeah, scares me a little that they fight so well for someone who isn't me," Hobie commented, looking at the still shielded fortress.

"Shall we throw stones at the forcefield to get their attention?" Neria said coolly as he joined the Talljets.

"Maybe," Hobie said. "And maybe not," he added as the field disappeared.

"Guess they saw us," Neria said, following Hobie over the drawbridge.

"Excellent," Djerian said happily, seeing Hobie, Maja and Neria in the snow. "One of us should go let them in."

"Catanya's just gone," SaDobra said. "Though, I wonder why he took Zbricacolvir's head with him," he added, sounding puzzled.

Before Djerian could answer, the force field shimmered away and Hobie started into the fortress.

Yrit rose and left the room, Gvo remained seated in meditation. Djerian and SaDobra followed the hunter out and down into the main hall to greet their rescuers.

"So this is the bastard's fortress," Hobie said, looking around the silent hall, littered with bodies.

"Welcome, Uncle," Catanya stepped out the shadows, bearing Zbricacolvir's head like a tribute. "Victory is yours."

Hobie came half way across the hall, almost mesmerized by Catanya's graceful progress and the trophy he offered. As the others looked on, uncle and nephew closed the distance and, instead of proffering the head, Catanya tossed it up in the air. Hobie was completely taken off guard and so Catanya easily unsheathed the dagger from the scabbard on his uncle's chest and kicked his legs out from under him. Pouncing on him, Catanya held the dagger over his uncle's eye and screamed for everyone to stay back. "Why? Why did Rezdi die here? Why did Zbricacolvir bring Garak here? Couldn't you protect us? Why did you do this?" he howled, waving the knife.

"I did not do this, Catanya." Hobie tried to sound calming. He'd seen Yrit moving like a shadow toward them.

"Lies. You're lying!" Catanya raised the knife to strike.

"Leave it, Cat," Hobeia caught his noli's wrist before the fatal, downward swing. "Come on, baby, it's not worth it," Hobeia rasped, his mechanical voice tight with suffering. He gentled the knife out of Catanya's hand and helped him up. Sheltering his noli in his arms, he turned them away from Hobie. "Show me Rezdi's body."

"You are definitely Jir's child," Hobie said after them, rising from the floor.

"I am Jir's other remaining child," Catanya said coldly over Hobeia's shoulder as they left the room.

Tien patted Maja's arm and followed the JirCheqs out of the hall.

".....you were dead, pirate...." Yrit sighed, handing Hobie Zbricacolvir's head.

"Yeah," Hobie agreed, taking it by the matted locks. "Neria, I want to show this to all the pirate clans who have sworn fealty to Zbricacolvir."

"I'll show you the comms, Neria," SaDobra volunteered, leading Neria out of the hall.

"I think somebody ought to clear these bodies out," Doxoru observed and called his ship to beam down some clean-up men.

"I'd help you if I wasn't so tired," Rubicion said.

"Let's find Garak and get the fuck out of here," Memphis said.

"....there...."

The Terrans followed Yrit's bony finger to the mezzanine. Garak, Bashir and Gvo stood silently looking on. Their faces were unreadable, as if they had not witnessed Catanya's attack or were completely unmoved by it.

".....they ssssstay here....."

"I have a ship, I'm taking them back to DS9," Memphis said, facing off with the hunter. "Now, not later, now."

"Ah, Memphis," Maja began.

"....they ssstay...."

"Look, whoever you are..."

"Memphis," Hobie said firmly. "A single ship would never get out of Zbricacolvir's former Autonomous Zone alive. Wait..."

"'Zbricacolvir's former Autonomous Zone'?" Doxoru asked.

"Yeah, it's mine now," Hobie said. "Wait until I've made terms with the other clans, when it will be safe. Or wait until Yrit says you can go. Either one of those means you'll live." Hobie looked at Yrit, leaning down to speak to Maja. "Arguing with Yrit is the quickest way to death. Look around you."

Memphis began to argue with Hobie but SaDobra called them to the communication room. Neria had raised the pirate clan leaders, who knew that Zbricacolvir's fleet was defeated and that Czlyovia had fallen. The Commander looked up at the mezzanine, where only Gvo stood now, and cursed Yrit.

Rather than leave Memphis where he could annoy Yrit (or worse, annoy Gvo), Hobie took all the humans to the comm room with him.

But not that Yrit would have noticed, he was in deep conversation with Maja, his usual one-way conversation.

"I see Memphis has come for you," Bashir said quietly when they were back in Garak's room.

"I think it has more to do with Doxoru and Rubicion than me," Garak lied. "Don't you think, darling?"

"Perhaps."

"I was never married to him, Julian."

"Where did you get that idea, Elim?" Bashir asked.

"From you."

"Really? I don't remember that."

"Well, perhaps I misunderstood," Garak said, dismissing the subject. "Or something." He crawled back into the bed. "Or perhaps I'm just tired," and pulled the covers over his head.

"Elim, come, it's all right now, you're safe," Bashir said, pulling the Cardassian into his arms. Hearing a knock at the door, he called, "Come," and then felt stupid because no one could hear through that door.

Nevertheless, Maja, Yrit and Gvo came in.

"Are you well, Mr. Garak?" Maja asked, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

"No, Master Ghet, actually not. I've been kidnapped, assaulted, terrorized, brutali..."

"Yes, well, yes," Maja cut in. "I've just been speaking with Yrit and Gvo about your, ah, ordeal. We all feel that the best thing would be to get you and Dr. Bashir back to DS9 and married and onto living happily ever after, as they say. Would you like that?" he asked, serenely.

"I'd like that," Bashir said. "Elim?"

"Can it be arranged?" Garak asked, wondering what else he could get out of the Talljets before the day was done. "Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich has always opposed it."

"....of coursssssse....."

".......yessssssss......"

"Yes, of course, it can be arranged," Maja agreed, glancing nervously at Gvo. "All shall be as you wish."

"When can we leave?" Bashir brightened at the prospect.

".....sssssssoon....."

".....very sssssoon......"

"Oh, as soon as we get a few things settled," Maja said reasonably. "Unfortunately, we are still in the middle of a war with several thousand pirates, but we are working to resolve that as quickly as possible."

".......sssssoon.... ....very ssssoon....."

"......to go DSSSSSSSS9.... ....vissssit....."

"......your wedding......"

"........ssssssoon......."

Maja rose and faced the hunters. "You two are not going to the station," he said firmly.

"......yesssss.... wedding......"

".....visssssit!........"

"Well, maybe you are," Maja said, sinking back down, too tired to argue with the ghouls. "It can't possibly make any difference now." He sat watching Bashir channeling Yrit's and Gvo's lethal energy into healing energy into Garak's physical and telefield injuries, which were extensive. 'You're more fragile than I thought, Cardie,' Maja realized.

/yes, Hobie dangles a helpless creature before a monster and now you have regret, Maja/

'A torturer, Yrit, a monster himself. Not exactly helpless.'

/The Iyr bird destroys its own kind but is savaged by the Tsl cat nevertheless/

/Are you now handing out punishment for the sins of others, Ghet?/

'Never, Gvo, never. I had not realized how weak he was.'

/Or cared/

'Or cared, no, I don't even care now, really.'

/Ah, progress, Maja, you are as strong and now wise as we are/

/Nothing here matters, let all die and we will wander together, the three of us/

/A family, a family of hunters/

'I have a family, thank you.'

/We'll eat them for you/

'Please, do not trouble yourself.'

/You are the same, Maja, you will not be what you are unless it serves you, and if it surprises you, then you are sad that you have miscalculated/

/You will not admit your true self, your Mage self, that all this illusion is of no matter and join us/

'It does matter.'

/Then see the Terran and his Cardassian married and leave them be/

/Or let us eat them and also the problem is solved with less effort for you and Hobie or would that be, what's your word, wrong?/

'Yes, wrong, Gvo.'

/Right and wrong are such useless words/

/Everything is right/

/Everything is wrong/

'Then why is this Terran and this Cardassian so important to you?'

/They love, they are fearless in that love and will sacrifice for it/

/This impresses us/

'Love? You? I thought you two didn't believe in love.'

/We don't, until such proof is before us and we can no longer deny its existence/

/We are realists/

Maja was saved the trouble of a reply by Tien tapping on the door and asking him to come out. It pleased Maja that Tien was rightfully afraid of the hunters, there was something reassuringly normal about that. He glanced once more back into the room and saw Yrit and Gvo had not moved from the guard-like positions they'd taken at the foot of Garak's bed when they came in. He wondered if they'd really had a conversation and decided, yes, perhaps not a conversation but the hunters had certainly made their point. "Yes, my child?" Maja asked when he and Tien were on the stairs.

"I've seen Rezdi's body," Tien said. "He died in his sleep. Catanya said he came here to get him out but Cat wouldn't leave without Garak. Cat doesn't know why Rezdi stayed..."

"And now he never will," Maja said grimly.

"Except he thinks it was to try to convince him again to leave," Tien finished, a note of anger in his voice. "And if we'd been better informed about Yrit's and Gvo's involvement..."

"Tien, I didn't even know they were involved," Maja said, drawing him aside. "Do you think I wanted Rezdi to die? Or Bot? Or SaKoszt? For god's sake..."

"Then why was it all such a secret?"

"It's a war," Maja said vaguely.

"But it wasn't a war until Zbricacolvir took Garak," Tien said firmly. "And there were no negotiations, except that Rezdi and Catanya came here to try to rescue him. And now Rezdi's dead and Catanya's torn to pieces. And I'd like to know why it went to war so quickly. We are not usually like this."

"Zbricacolvir had much to answer for..."

"And what had Mr. Garak and Dr. Bashir to answer for? Zbricacolvir is with the dead; Garak and Bashir must live somehow."

Maja sighed. "I don't know, Tien. Ask Hobie. I don't know." He walked a few steps and came back. "Did you want something other than to torment me?"

"Oh, yes, Neria-Tza wants to see you," Tien said, softening toward his exhausted parent. "He saw Rezdi's body and heard Catanya's story and wants to talk to you about something."

"How is Cat?"

"Djerian brought down some healers from the other ships and they're working on him in shifts," Tien said.

"Was he that bad, I didn't see it," Maja said.

"He was just barely staying in the body," Tien said. "It was pure will. You know how we JetCheqs be; too ornery to die when it would be the easiest thing." He gave his beleaguered parent a hug and led him to Neria-Tza.

"And all is agreed?" Hobie asked the pirates on the viewscreen. He smiled to himself hearing the affirmative babble of Patois. "Excellent. I'm sure Zbricacolvir would have approved. If he was not dead," he added, patting the matted locks of the deceased pirate king's head.

"You wanted to see me, Neria?" Maja asked, sitting across from the pirate.

"Yes, I do, very much," Neria snarled over his brandy. "So, tell me, Maja, did we lose Bot, SaKoszt and Rezdi for nothing or is there some larger purpose to all this?"

"Ask Hobie, Neria," Maja said wearily.

"I would, except I'm more afraid of the truth than the lies I might get."

Maja slumped into his chair and pointed to the brandy bottle by Neria. "Can I have some of that?"

"Sure." Neria poured him a stiff one.

"Thanks," Maja said taking a healthy swallow. "Neria, I really don't know. I can't believe Hobie would deliberately let Bot and SaKoszt die if he could have prevented it."

"But Rezdi was an acceptable loss?"

Hearing the rage in Neria's usually dry-humored voice, Maja looked up at the long, cool XochiCheq. "Probably. I can't speak for Hobie, but I'm sorry to say that Rezdi and Catanya have always been the most expendable members of the family, in my mind."

Neria threw the contents of his glass into the MageCheq's face and poured himself another. "You stink, Maja."

"Maybe," Maja said, wiping the wine off his cheeks. "But you wanted the truth and there it is: I'd rather lose Rezdi than Tien; I'd rather lose Tien than Ling; I'd rather lose..."

"Enough, please. Your logic has always turned my stomach," Neria said, looking like he might be sick.

"Listen, Neria," Maja said, feeling close to tears. "I think Hobie had it all planned out. Those robot ships are unbeatable; Hobeia is a master fighter - put together, they were an unbeatable edge in an evenly matched fight. What he didn't think of, what none of us thought of, was that Catanya was going to be brave and try to save Garak and Rezdi was going to be brave and try to save his noli." He cleared his throat as the tears began to spill. "And that's what I'll burn in hell for, Neria, that not only did I underestimate them all their lives, but I never even gave Rezdi or Catanya a chance to be as wonderful as they are. Or were, as now it's too late for Rezdi or me or both." He looked up into Neria's stony face and got a grip. "So, when Rezdi died Hobeia froze in agony. Same agony Catanya had here. It even tore up Tien; dunno what it did to Jir, but, well, I'm sure it wasn't pretty."

"So, you're telling me it's all Rezdi's fault for dying? Or is it all Catanya's fault for protecting GarakFara? Or, again, is it Rezdi's fault for trying to save Catanya, who was trying to save Garak? Or, perhaps, it's your fault for underestimating Rezdi and Catanya and not knowing they'd be capable of sacrifice and loyalty? Or is it really and truly Hobie's fault for setting Garak as bait so he could start this war that, yeah, he won, that yeah, ripped up Garak, Bashir, Catanya and Djerian, killed Rezdi, Bot and SaKoszt, and yeah, has consequences beyond what I can imagine and those I can imagine that make me sick; yeah, so Hobie won his war, but, Maja, was it fucking worth it?" Neria stared hard into a face he'd trusted most of his life and now despised with all his soul.

Maja finished his drink, stood up and put his glass on the table. "Yeah, Neria," he snarled wearily. "Yeah, it's one of those; maybe all of those - you fucking figure it out. Me, I'm too tired." He turned and walked away, ignoring Neria's curse and the glass he smashed on the table in fury.

Letting his shields down enough to locate Hobie, Maja gathered his energies and went to face his nolo. He found him celebrating alone in the comm room.

"You smell like a distillery, Maja," Hobie said.

"Oh, I spilled the brandy I was having with Neria-Tza," Maja lied, sitting opposite him.

"Is he celebrating, too?" Hobie asked. "He looked pretty grim last time I saw him."

Maja shrugged. "Hochofedra."

"Well, have some champagne to go with your brandy," Hobie handed him a glass. "And tell me what's on your mind."

"I would say we have disappointed everyone, Hobie," Maja said quietly. "We are not bad enough for Yrit and Gvo and not good enough for everyone else. We now reside in the gray area known as talented but flawed, very flawed."

"How much have you had to drink today?" Hobie asked.

"Not enough," Maja said and continued: "Why did you start this war?"

"To rescue Garak," Hobie said without hesitation.

"Oh, please, Hobie, lie to someone who likes it," Maja drawled. "Why?"

"The opportunity arose to get rid of Zbricacolvir and rescue Garak," Hobie said. "I chose to pursue both agendas."

"Did you bait your trap for Zbricacolvir with Garak?" Maja asked.

"No."

"Truth?"

"Maja!"

"Truth?"

"Yes, truth." He looked away from Maja's intense stare. "However, it was convenient that Zbricacolvir kidnapped Garak. It was a more gallant reason to kill the bastard than that I simply wanted to."

"Yrit and Gvo would damn your reasons for their impurity," Maja snarled. "And Neria would damn them for their cruelty."

"Are you having a bad day, Maja?"

"Aren't you? You're down to one son and seven nephews."

"I can't change what is, Maja," Hobie said after a long moment.

"Then let's change what will be," Maja sighed. "Yrit and Gvo want to see Garak and Bashir married."

"Doxoru can marry them on his ship," Hobie said, uninterested.

"They want to see it on DS9," Maja insisted.

"Fine, they can take them and go." Hobie was still not interested.

"Wiskott-Aldrich opposes it, mainly because of you," Maja said evenly.

"Look, Maja, I've just conquered an empire, I'm a busy man, I..." Hobie paused to look at his noli's face and relented, "Mraht, what must I do?"

"AmChiera, Nolo, AmChiera. The deal with Wiskott-Aldrich is in place, simply make it a condition that Garak and Bashir are married before you sign," Maja said. "And see them married before you do sign."

"And you want this to happen on DS9?"

"Yrit and Gvo want this to happen on DS9," Maja said. "They were emphatic."

"All right," Hobie said, opening a comm line. "Jir and EO are on their way here."

"Oh god, poor Jir. Not Ling?"

"No, he's ill on Vulcan; so is Polmira," Hobie said.

"Why is EO coming here? I thought he'd finished up for us with the Wiskott-Aldrich deal?"

"He's coming to negotiate a peace treaty among the pirate clans," Hobie said seriously.

"There will be Vulcan comedians next, Hobie," Maja scoffed. "A treaty with pirates; I doubt it."

"Have some faith, little brother," Hobie said. "I shall forge a peace to last ten thousand years and dedicate it to GarakFara."

"How convenient."

They turned to the viewscreen, which filled with Jir's haggard face.

"Oh, Nolo," Maja sighed.

"Jira," Hobie faltered and pulled himself together. "Jira, I'm sorry about Rezdi, I..."

"What do you want, Hobie?" Jir asked in a dead voice.

"I want you and EO to detour to DS9 and set up a meeting with Wiskott-Aldrich to sign the tech transfer agreement," Hobie said. "I'll meet you there."

"It shall be done, brother," Jir said coldly and began to turn away.

"Jir, I'm sorry, I know you want to get here to see..."

"Rezdi won't be any more dead in an extra day," Jir said, looking away. "I've spoken to Catanya and I can do as little as I've ever been able to do for him." Jir looked at Maja. "Djerian and Tien are caring for him, are they not, Noli?"

"Yes, Jira, and some other healers," Maja said, using what scraps of information he had about Catanya. "They say he will be all right. Hobeia is here as well, although he can't do any healing with those machine hands, he is a comfort to Catanya in all this."

"Then that is best," Jir said sadly. "I could not help him a day earlier anyway. I am years too late as it is. I will contact you for the rendezvous at DS9. Jir out." The screen faded and he was gone.

Maja and Hobie sat in silence, staring into the void that was the future without Rezdi or Bot or SaKoszt.

"I hope ten thousand years of peace is worth it," Maja said when he was able to speak again.

"Mraht."

"AmChiera AmChiera AmChiera."

".....ssssssleeping......"

"I just want to see him," Memphis insisted.

".......sssssssleeePING......."

"Look, Mr. whatever you are," Rubicion began.

"Ah, excuse me, Commander Memphis," SaDobra sidled between the Terrans and Gvo. "Gentlemen," he nodded to Rubicion and Doxoru. "Please come with me," he said, herding them away from Garak's bedroom door.

"SaDobra, I just want to see Garak," Memphis said again.

"I know," SaDobra said with as much compassion as a VulCheq can put in his voice. "But if you make Gvo angry, he's the last thing you'll ever see. Mr. Garak is all right; Dr. Bashir is taking good care of him. Uncle is going to take them to DS9 very soon."

"When?" Doxoru asked.

"I don't know exactly but soon," SaDobra said. "He'll be safe, Commander Memphis, I promise."

"Memphis, we need to skeedaddle pretty damn quick," Rubicion said. "'Fore we're missed in the S system or noticed in this one, know what I mean?"

Memphis slumped; he knew this was true but still wanted to see Garak once for himself.

"If Captain Doxoru and Colonel Rubicion will wait here for a moment," SaDobra said. "I'll try to help you."

"I'll be right back," Memphis told his friends and followed SaDobra back to Garak's room.

Gvo had left the door so they went in. The hunters were seated in meditation (or something), Yrit stirred slightly when they came in, but, seeing they were harmless, ignored them.

"See, they are sleeping," SaDobra whispered, nodding at Garak and Bashir curled up in the bed and, indeed, sleeping peacefully.

Memphis looked on for a moment, sighed and silently left the room. He left the system Zone with Doxoru and Rubicion almost immediately with a safe conduct from Neria-Tza. They sent their farewells to Hobie and received his thanks when they were far away from Czlyovia.

"Look after everything, Maja," Hobie said, in the shuttle bay. "I'll be back with Jir and EO as quick as I can."

"I see you've given Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo one of the little black reconnaissance ships," Maja said.

"Yes, fast, sleek and lethal; just like them," Hobie agreed.

"Also looks good with their white hair," Maja said. "What are you paying them for all this anyway?"

"I thought I'd let Jir work that out," Hobie said.

"You didn't settle on a price in advance?" Maja asked, shocked.

"No. Wish me Godspeed, Noli?"

"Godspeed, Nolo, you'll need it with Jir. By the way, did you notice Dr. Bashir has become an empath?" Maja added innocently.

"Yes, and all because Yrit and Gvo have sunk their hooks in him and sunk them deep," Hobie sighed, watching Garak and Bashir get into the little black ship. "This is something else we'll work out later."

"......yesssss... ....later...."

"........let'ssssssss....GO......"

"We're going, we're going, we're gone." Hobie hugged Maja and waited until he was out of the airlock to get into his ship.

Once they were away, Hobie opened a comm to Vulcan. Seeing his son's consort in nightwear and tousled, he apologized, "Sorry, Strig, I forgot what time it was in Shirkar. How's Polmira?"

"Responding to the Vulcan healers and progressing," Strig answered. "He has asked for you."

"That's good news. I will be there as soon as I can," Hobie said. "And Ling?"

"Also recovering, but Laninin had to be consulted," Strig said. "Laninin said that Ling chased SaKoszt, Bot and Rezdi into death and it was necessary to find him again."

"I'm not surprised. Ling is the most sensitive of all of us. Courageous and foolhardy, as well."

"Are you well, Hobie?" he asked when Hobie did not continue.

"No, Strig, I'm not well, but I have to keep going for a while," Hobie said. "I'm glad Polmira and Ling are recovering. Please tell them I will be there as soon as I can."

"Yes, please come as soon as you can, Hobie," Strig said. "SaRija, Farro and Hraja are on their way to Vulcan now. Bring Hobeia, Catanya, Tien and SaDobra; they are always welcome in my home. Strig out."

Hobie frowned at the blank screen and wondered if he was still welcome in Strig's home. Maybe just in the Polmira half of it.

"May I join you, Hobie?"

"Sure, Garak." He nodded at the co-pilot seat.

"Thank you for rescuing me." Garak sat, arranging his embroidered wool skirts around him.

"Oh, you're welcome."

"I'm sorry that Bot, SaKoszt and Rezdi died," Garak said quietly. "I hope it was worth it."

"Hope what was worth it, Garak? They died rescuing you."

"I was under the impression they died fighting Zbricacolvir," Garak said firmly.

"To rescue you," Hobie repeated.

"That is not Gvo's opinion."

"Oh? And what is the tall, white ghoul's opinion?" Hobie asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"That they could have rescued me without your war..." Garak paused to let Hobie curse in Klingonese for a moment. "But that it would not have also resulted in thousands of years of peace in Zones. And that, awful as the present and immediate past have been, it was worth it."

"Garak, I had three sons; now I have one. I had nine nephews; now I have seven," Hobie said softly. "My family is in agony and my closest friends loathe me. I don't even have you to comfort me." He sighed, "Ten thousand years of peace might be worth it for generations, Garak, but not for me." He looked the Cardassian over. "I don't suppose you want to marry me now?"

"No, thank you, Yrit said..."

"Yes, I know, I'm going to force Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich to let you marry Bashir," Hobie said, smiling humorlessly. "I'm going to see that it happens before I leave DS9. I have promised Maja and I never break my promises to Maja."

"Thank you," Garak said, glancing back at Bashir, who was watching them.

"You know, Garak, you have the bravest Terran I ever see in my life," Hobie said. "I hope I never meet another like him; I might have to adjust my opinion of the little pink slugs." He made a slight course correction. "And I hate to adjust my opinion."

"There's only one like him, Captain Talljet," Garak said, rising to join Bashir. "Never fear."

"Then, Godspeed, Mr. Garak."

It was very late in the station's night when the two little black ships arrived.

Sisko had not been pleased to be roused from his sleep by Wiskott-Aldrich demanding his time and energy. However, he was very pleased to hear Dr. Bashir was on his way back to the station. He was even glad to hear that Garak had survived the war in the Zones that Starfleet was adamantly refusing to admit had just occurred.

"You know, Benjamin, there really are some things Fleet and the Federation do not want to know about," Wiskott-Aldrich drawled over a brandy in Ops. "Pirate wars are just one of the many subjects they'd rather leave alone. Wouldn't you say, Mr. Talljet? Mr. EO?"

"Yes, quite," EO said shortly. It was an outrage that Wiskott-Aldrich could speak so blithely about the deaths of tens of thousands on Czlyovia. Not that EO disagreed with his client's actions - he loathed Zbricacolvir as much as any right thinking being - nevertheless, such events should not be taken lightly.

And then there was the matter of Jira Krinat beside him, whose mourning was almost tangible. The MageCheq had simply informed him of their detour to DS9 and its reason. In many ways EO would be glad to finish up the business between Talljet Inc. and Wiskott-Aldrich and be done with anything to remind him of the failed marriage negotiations. Once he'd convinced himself of the rightness of the Garak and Hobie marriage he was sorry to see the matter dropped. But, that was how it as in the negotiator business; you win some, you lose some. EO turned his attention to Ramon Bhomgharrid, who was reading the contract for the nth time. "Does it still meet with your approval, Mr. Bhomgharrid?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, all quite in order," Bhomgharrid said cheerfully. "Just as I'd expect from Talljet and Storen as well as yourself, Mr. EO."

"So happy to have Starfleet's continuing good opinion," EO drawled, wishing this was done and he was in the Zones making peace with the pirate clans.

Jir said nothing. He merely straightened the cuffs of his impeccable black lawyer's suit and stared into nothingness. He seemed so removed from the scene, he might as well have been somewhere else.

It was something of a relief for Sisko to send Odo and Kira to meet the docking black ships.

Rousing himself, Jir asked, "How many ships?"

"Two," Sisko said, watching the bay monitor.

"Who's getting out of them?" Jir asked quietly.

"Captain Talljet, Dr. Bashir, Garak," Sisko said. "And two tall thin people with white hair I don't recognize."

If there had been another telepath in the room, it would have felt Jir raise every shield he possessed.

"......ssssssssstation!..........."

".........DSSSSSSSSSSSS9........"

".........sssssshopsssssssss......"

"....your ssssssssshop GarakFara........."

"......Quark'ssssssssss......."

"Quark's is closed, Yrit," Hobie said, trying to get the hunters' attention. They were like kids in an amusement park. "How do you know about Quark's?"

"......Bassssssssshir......."

".....knowsssssss....."

"Ah." Hobie glanced at the shifter and the deeply shaken Bajoran female and tried not to laugh. Gvo, who had the more morbid sense of humor of the two had greeted Odo with a long hissing "......ssssssssshifter....." that had so unnerved the Bajorana, she'd tried to put herself between them. Hobie had just barely had time to yank her out of the way before Gvo played his lethal energy harmlessly over the shifter. It was a big game for them: Gvo's energy would chase the shifter's life force for awhile and then give up. A Cvomi hunter once told Hobie that killing shifters was a long, complex process - not unlike a dance - but playing with them was something not to be passed up when the opportunity arose. But fun was fun and eventually they got the hunters off the Promenade and into Ops.

Everyone but Jir rose and backed away from the hunters. Even EO, who'd seen such creatures before, but had never been in the same room with them.

"......sssssssssit....... pleasssssse......."

"....not disssssssturb........."

"........brandy!........"

"No brandy, Gvo," Hobie said, drawing Jir into his arms. "I'm so glad it's the middle of the night here."

"Oh? It would have been more interesting in the middle of the day," Jir said dryly.

".......ssssshops!........"

"Yes, Gvo, shops," Jir agreed. "Such wonderful couture at Garak's and overpriced and inferior wines at Quark's. Oh, you must come back and experience it all ssssssssomeday." This last was grated out with such violence, the assembled simply gazed at him. "Someday. When all this is forgotten."

"......all will be dead then, Jira......"

".........all...... .......dead......."

Sisko cleared his throat and welcomed Garak and Bashir home.

"Well, then! If you're ready to sign, Talljet, I've already done so, and we'll be on our way," Wiskott-Aldrich said, making a wide arc around the hunters to hand the signature padd to Hobie.

"There is one small matter," Hobie said, tucking the padd under his arm.

"Which is?" Wiskott-Aldrich's good cheer evaporated.

"Mr. Yrit and Mr. Gvo and I would like to see Mr. Garak and Dr. Bashir married before we finish this deal, Admiral," Hobie said.

"I would like to see that, too," EO said.

"And I," also came from Jir, Odo and Sisko. Kira shrugged and then said, "Me too."

"I don't see how this has any bearing on the deal, Talljet," Wiskott-Aldrich snarled.

"It don't, Admiral," Hobie said glacially. "It will simply make many people happy. Including you, because I won't sign and the hunters won't leave until we see them wed. Understand me?"

"Perfectly," Wiskott-Aldrich snapped. "I suppose you want me to do the hon..."

".....Sssssssssisko......"

"We'd have to go to the Defiant," Sisko began.

"......sssssstarsssssssship!........"

"Let's don't and say we did, Captain," Jir said.

"Actually, under Federation law, as commander of a non-stationary installation, you have the same authority as on your ship, which is considered adjunct to this station, which could be considered a Federation consulate," Bhomgharrid droned. "I'd go to court on that."

"Not that anyone would sue over anything that happens this far out in the middle of nowhere," Jir said, staring down Kira's dirty look. "Is there a precedent?"

"No," Bhomgharrid said.

"Then this shall be it," Jir continued. "The marriage will be legal in the Federation and Starfleet will not object as it has the blessing of the sector's ranking officer, Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich. Shall we? Sooner started; sooner done."

"Are you two ready?" Sisko asked Garak and Bashir.

"Yes," Garak said.

"Very much," Bashir added.

"Excellent," Jir said, snapping his fingers. "Ramon, what do we need in the way of paperwork? Can we use this viewer?" he asked Sisko.

"Please." Sisko gestured graciously to the keyboard.

"You all go right ahead," Jir said, typing away like mad. "We'll be ready when you're done. Hurry up." He and Bhomgharrid set to work; shaking their heads and murmuring over the arcane mysteries of Federation family law.

The rest of the room, except for Yrit and Gvo, who'd taken up positions by the door, gathered around Elim Garak and Julian Bashir to see them married by Benjamin Sisko. 'I dos' were murmured and Sisko had nearly finished saying, "By the power vested in me by..."

"Voilà!" Jir handed him the padd.

"....married under the laws of the Federation." Sisko took the padd and stylo and signed. He handed it to Bashir, who signed on the right side and indicated for Garak to sign on the left.

Hobie murmured, "Mraht," and EO, Gvo and Yrit answered, "AmChiera."

"AmChiera," Jir snapped. "Who's witnessing?"

"I will," Odo volunteered.

".......no........"

"........Wisssssssskott-Aldrich ........and that one by him....." Gvo sighed, referring to Bhomgharrid.

"Sorry, ah, sir, but my name and bar license number is on the marriage contract already," Bhomgharrid said with some pride.

"......the Bajorana....."

Kira took the padd from Wiskott-Aldrich and signed. She handed it to Jir, who transferred the signature into the Federation Domestic Law Record base and, under Bhomgharrid's bar license number, logged the marriage as legal and binding.

"Done," Jir said, looking up at Hobie, who was signing the technology transfer contract. "Ramon? Do you want to do this one?" he asked, rising from the computer.

"I believe I will," Bhomgharrid sat down and logged into the Contract Law record base.

Jir stood a discreet distance behind Bhomgharrid and watched the transaction go through. The MageCheq could almost feel the money moving from account to account and data from record base to record base. "Excellent," he sighed. "Let's go."

"Congratulations, Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak," Hobie said flatly.

"Yes, congratulations," Jir said, not even trying to hide his impatience to be gone. "By the way, Hobie, what are you paying Mr. Death and Mr. Suffering?" he asked, tugging Hobie past the hunters and out the door.

"I thought I'd let you work that out, Jir."

Jir looked up at the more serene than usual predatory smiles on the hunters' faces and said, "Oh, shit."

".....Basssshir....." the hunters gestured him to them and leaned down to speak into his ear. They looked carefully into his eyes and did not move when he leaped back from them in terror. They turned and left with the elder Talljet brothers.

And when they were gone the room seemed much larger.

"What happened, Julian?" Garak asked, trying to calm Bashir.

"It was like I hadn't really seen them before," Bashir stammered. "I didn't realize..."

"How terrifying they are?" Garak asked. "I was wondering why you were so calm around them."

"Was I? It was all so strange..."

"Well," Garak said. "It's late and I'd like to go home. If you'll excuse us."

"Of course," Sisko said, hoping Wiskott-Aldrich would leave soon, too. "Take tomorrow off, Doctor." He sent a brief station-wide comm announcing the CMO's marriage and another to Starfleet.

"Thank you," Bashir said, shepherding Garak out. "Good night."

"Well, fine work, gentlemen, fine work," Wiskott-Aldrich said cheerfully downing his brandy. "Come along, Mr. Bhomgharrid. Good evening, all."

Thus Garak and Bashir's wedding party went their separate ways.

"Well, Elim," Bashir asked as they crossed the silent Promenade. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Should we move in to your quarters? They're bigger and nicer and..."

"Can we discuss this tomorrow, Julian?" Garak asked, keying in his door code. "I really am very tired."

"Of course." Bashir looked around the familiar room. "Thank you for marrying me."

"Oh, you're welcome," Garak said, removing his gown and stuffing it into the recycler. "We didn't have much choice, did we?"

"We could have refused. Did you want to refuse?"

"No, I didn't," Garak admitted. "I might have preferred a longer, more public engagement to let people get used to the idea."

"Oh, I don't think it would have made any difference," Bashir said, watching him set the shower controls.

"We will find out tomorrow," Garak said, beckoning to him. "Come, Julian, let's wash the past few weeks off us."

They slept late the next day. Their comm units silently recorded that Mrs. Azbury and Miles O'Brien were the first to congratulate them on their marriage. Over the course of the day they received several dozen congratulations from station residents, especially those who did the most shouting in Quark's over whether the Bashir-Garak marriage would last out the Bajoran year and whether Garak should hyphenate his name. Mostly, no one cared, and it was business as usual on DS9.

Long ago, even before they became lovers, Bashir had gotten into the habit of checking on Garak's shop from the Infirmary. If he didn't wish to step out of the Infirmary to look up at the lights, or lack of lights, in the tailor shop, he could use his security clearance to access the monitor-bot across from the shop. It was a bad habit, one he'd tried unsuccessfully to break and one that amused Garak no end.

But a useful habit because that afternoon, when Bashir noticed Garak had closed early, he told his staff he'd be in late the next morning and went home.

They had not consulted ThiaZole for dysecdysis in many years and Bashir had a moment of anxiety mixed with sadness that since the Cvomi's suicide, they could now never do so. It would also be a sad ecdysis for Garak with ThiaZole gone; the tailor and masseur had not been close but they had much common history and Garak had taken his death harder than Bashir thought he would.

Dr. Bashir went to his home, which was like an oven, and silently into their bedroom, where Garak was wrapped in all the blankets. He stripped off his uniform and crept under the covers. Very close to his Cardassian, he was still and waited. Waiting was necessary because Garak could be very cranky if approached incorrectly in ecdysis and had tossed Bashir bodily out of bed once. It was better to wait until Garak woke up and reached for him. Since that didn't seem to happening immediately, Bashir decided to conserve his energy and take a nap.

Garak's overheated body curling next to him woke Bashir. Putting his arms around his Cardassian, Julian returned the soft kisses while letting his hands roam in search of a break in Garak's old scales. Ah, lucky, he found one in Garak's lower back. Easing one set of fingers under the loosening shed, Bashir reached between them and caressed their erections together. He whispered, "Go back to sleep, Elim."

"Maybe," was the sleepy reply. Garak rolled onto his back and drew Bashir over him.

Just as well, Bashir worked at some loose shed on his arms and abdomen.

Garak pulled him down and wrestled with him before flopping back on the pillows in mock surrender.

Bashir chuckled and reached for the lube. He loved ecdysis, he really did. Garak was so languid, so agreeable and so quiet during ecdysis. Just a few grunts and sighs of pleasure and this wonderfully ego-enhancing mute adoration of Bashir. It was the same every cycle and only for a few days, the first being the most intense, but it was such fun for Julian and a such a pleasant respite in the routine of their relationship.

Garak seemed ready, he rolled onto his side and was still as Julian prepared him. Agreeably, for him, he rolled onto his stomach when asked. Not that he ever refused but it was necessary to be somewhat petulant during ecdysis; it was a tradition to enjoy it but not be too obvious about it. Unless it was dysecdysis and was killing you then... He arched when Bashir entered him, wriggling his erection against the sheets. So intent on Julian's lovemaking, Garak never realized that the Terran had removed all the loose shed from his back and arms before he penetrated him. Happily writhing beneath his spouse, Garak shifted a little to give him access to his erection and let him bring them to a satisfying climax. The mind blowing climaxes were saved for when the sensitive new scales were completely exposed and needed, ah, stimulation. This first climax of the cycle would just get the blood flowing. But, oh, how nicely it did get the blood flowing.

Bashir rolled off and lay panting beside his Cardassian. "Darling? Could I ask a favor?"

"ANYthing!"

"Can we turn the heat down a tiny bit?"

"No!"

"Oh, welcome Captain Sisko," Garak said graciously. "I was expecting Julian."

"He's running late," Sisko said, looking around at the comfortable home Garak made for Bashir. Had to be Garak's Cardassian love of order that accounted for the peace and harmony of the room, which included several beautiful paintings. Last time Sisko had been in Bashir's quarters, they were a disaster area. "But he will be along very soon," he continued into Garak's polite silence.

"May I offer you something?" Garak asked.

"No, thank you. I think I won't be here that long," Sisko said, thinking that marriage to Garak had a very soothing effect on Bashir. Now that he was secure in his home life, the doctor was more relaxed and focused on his work than before. Sisko wondered if Garak was happy as well; the Cardassian had gone back to his life on DS9 as if nothing had happened. Garak had been more visibly distressed by ThiaZole's suicide than by anything that had happened to him personally.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" Garak asked, somewhat nervously.

Sisko was saved the trouble of answering by Julian coming in with Commander Memphis.

"I'm afraid you're going away for a few days, Elim," Julian told him.

"Why?" Garak asked Memphis.

"Because Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich is on his way here with a warrant for your arrest." Memphis looked around the comfortable room and wondered what he was missing. 'Oh well,' he thought, but said, "I have a ship to take you to..."

"Arrest? Johnny, why the hell...?"

"It was all a scam, Garak," Memphis said grimly. "The Talljets sold the Fleet, through Wiskott-Aldrich, completely useless technology for humanoids. And Wiskott-Aldrich is going to try to blame it all on you. Please start packing."

"Where am I going?" Garak asked.

"Does it matter?" Julian asked.

"I need to know what to pack," Garak explained. "Where, Johnny?"

"Bajor."

"Where on Bajor?"

"The place with the reflecting pools and moons-viewing platforms," Memphis elaborated, ignoring Bashir's jealous scowl. "You were allergic to the place with the flowering vines."

"Come with me while I pack and explain this," Garak ordered stomping down the hallway. "I can't see how they did it; weren't there experts and lawyers all around the negotiations?" he asked, neatly tossing an assortment of warm clothing into cases.

"I'm not sure but we think, the Talljets used their telepathy to make the experts and lawyers think they were getting one thing and then sold them another." Memphis was trying not to stare at the human bed. He'd once offered Garak a human bed and was refused for reasons of Cardassian orthopedic health. Bashir must have more influence.

"But there were Vulcans and a Betazoid involved," Garak said. "How did it get past them?"

"The Talljets are half Magidrian," Memphis said. "They can override any telepath we know about. Except, perhaps, your friends, Yrit and Gvo. Half Cvomis and Pholana are stronger."

"And much stranger," Garak added, picking up his bag. "How much latinum have we on hand, Julian?" he asked his spouse.

"Not much," Julian said, handing over what he had. "I could borrow from Quark," he suggested.

"I think not," Memphis said, handing Garak several bars. "Captain Sisko? You can get it from Bashir when this is over."

"Thanks," Garak said. "Can't Bashir come with me?"

"No. I need him to declare Wiskott-Aldrich incompetent so I can get him back to Fleet without a struggle," Memphis said. "We're hoping to contain the scandal so it won't hurt us too much. It looks bad when pirates like the Talljets can cheat us. Makes us look weaker than we are, but vulnerable nevertheless."

"Memphis, how do you know all this?" Garak asked sharply. "Who are you working for?"

"Well, ostensibly for Wiskott-Aldrich but really for that famous oxymoron, Starfleet Intelligence," Memphis admitted.

"How long?"

"Since before I met you; when I ostensibly worked for Admiral Norleu."

"I see," Garak hissed. "And was seducing me part of that?"

"No, if you'll recall, I didn't seduce you until Mrs. Azbury came to the station," Memphis said, ignoring Bashir's frown.

"What has Mrs. Azbury got to do with it?" Garak demanded.

"I told my superiors that you were not a spy and they decided I was prejudiced and sent someone else to keep an eye on you," Memphis told him. "That someone was Adela Azbury. And, by the way have you seen her lately?"

"She bought some traveling clothes a few weeks ago. Why?" Garak asked.

"She vanished a few days ago," Memphis said, examining Garak for signs of lying and finding none. "Just before it became obvious that we got gypped."

"And you're thinking...?" Garak prompted.

"That she turned, but we don't know for whom," Memphis supplied. "Could be the Talljets, or the Romulans, or the Klingons or even Zbricacolvir or possibly Wiskott-Aldrich. After all, who brought Jir here to dance and more importantly, who brought Ling here just in time for him to wreck the Bajoran economy? We don't know if she was working for someone who is anti-Federation, anti-Bajoran, anti-Talljet or some combination of all of those."

"She was one of my better customers," Garak said stunned.

"That," Memphis said, clicking open his communicator. "And a hell of a spy to boot. Ready?"

"Wait!" Bashir gave his spouse a long and possessive kiss good-bye. "I'll join you in a few days. We can have the honeymoon we missed."

"Ah, something to look forward to," Garak sighed and nodded to Memphis. He shimmered and was gone.

"So, how long were you and Garak lovers, Memphis?" Bashir asked.

"Until he dumped me for you."

"You never said a word."

"I figured I'd get him on the rebound eventually," Memphis drawled. 'I still figure that,' he thought.

"What's Wiskott-Aldrich's ETA, Memphis?" Sisko asked, dreading what was coming.

"'Bout an hour," Memphis drawled.

"Then let's get ready." Sisko led them out of Garak's tasteful parlor and up to Ops to wait for Wiskott-Aldrich.

Garak looked up from his reader when he heard Bashir's step on the gravel path. He rose from the chaise and greeted his exhausted Terran with a warm, loving spousal hug. "My dear, come take a nap with me," he said, leading him into the house. "It's the middle of the night on the Station."

"Yes, but I'm not really very tired," Bashir said.

"Then something to eat?"

"Tea, perhaps," Bashir said, sitting in the vacated chaise. "What a lovely garden. Too bad I never thought to bring you to secluded and romantic places like this."

"What, darling?" Garak asked, returning with the tea.

"I said, what a lovely garden."

"Oh, it's prettier by moonlight," Garak said, settling beside him. "You'll see tonight. You are staying, aren't you?"

"For a few days," Bashir said. "Then we both go home."

"What of Wiskott-Aldrich?"

"I don't know, he bolted for the Zones instead of coming to DS9." Bashir sipped his tea thoughtfully. "An official warrant was sworn out for him by the Ministry of Justice and Memphis thinks he went after Talljet directly instead of trying to blame you for anything."

"I hope this is the last of this disaster," Garak said softly, curling next to his spouse.

"We all hope that, Elim." Bashir pressed a kiss into his Cardassian's thick hair. "Including Memphis. And speaking of Memphis; why didn't you tell me you and he were lovers?"

"It was none of your business, darling."

"Well, perhaps not at first, darling, but at least after the first year we were together," Bashir insisted.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about all that by then," Garak sighed. "You made me forget him."

"And Xriet and Tymat and god knows who else?"

"Oh, really, Julian; there were hardly that many to forget. That's why it was so easy to forget them."

Bashir looked into Garak's oh-so-innocent blue eyes and, realizing he was getting nowhere with these questions, decided that, yes, perhaps they should take a nap.

In the manner of the honeymoon Bashir had promised Garak, they spent the next few days either in bed or in the garden, enjoying the moon, each other and some peace and quiet.

Bashir stared into the blackness before him. No sense looking around; he'd done that and knew he was surrounded by it. He felt more than saw Yrit near him, the sensation ebbed like music on a shifting breeze.

...where are we? Bashir thought...

...in the void..... the words seemed to come from the place Bashir thought Yrit might be...

...what is it? the void, I mean....

...everything and nothing...

....we must find Garak...

......we have failed......this is the now for now.....

...?....

.......your terran body is dead.....this is the now until the wheel turns this now for the next now.....

.....but Garak......

......this now is now.....surrender.....

Gentle hands caressed his brow and a well known voice called his name. "Julian, wake up, you're dreaming, wake up." Bashir curled into Garak's arms and let him soothe away the nightmare. He sat up violently and called for fifty percent lights. Looking around their bedroom, praying it would not turn out to be something else, somewhere else.

"Julian, whatever did you dream?" Garak asked softly, drawing him back into the pillows. "You called my name."

"I dreamed that I couldn't find you," Bashir said, omitting that he couldn't find Garak because he, Bashir, was dead. "But it was just a dream. Now who the hell is that?" he asked, rising to answer the door.

"It's late, let's don't answer," Garak suggested, pulling on a robe and tossing one to Bashir.

"It's late, I'm a doctor, I have to answer it."

"They could comm us," Garak said, following him down the hall.

"Who is it?" Bashir said when they reached the door.

"Your favorite Marine, Rubicion."

"And your favorite Starship Captain, Doxoru."

"Elim, call Odo," Bashir said, double locking the door.

"And I am here," Odo said. "Please open up, Dr. Bashir or I'll be forced to use the override."

"Come! Odo what's the meaning of this?" Bashir demanded.

Doxoru and Rubicion waved pleasantly at Garak, who ignored them. Or tried to ignore them until they began jumping up and down. They stopped when he nodded at them.

"Captain Sisko..." Odo began.

"Aw, the hell with him," Rubicion drawled. "Admiral Norleu is up in Ops and wants to see you, Mr. Garak, very much he wants to see you."

"In the middle of the night?" Garak snarled.

"Well, you ran last time an Admiral wanted to chat with you," Rubicion said blandly.

"Memphis is with him," Doxoru added. "Arguing your innocence."

"I am innocent," Garak said.

"Well, come tell Norleu that and he'll leave if he thinks so," Doxoru said calmly.

"Very well. I'll get dressed," Garak said, turning to go back to his bedroom but found Rubicion in his way.

"Well, Captain Sisko is in his jammies, too, so you'll feel right at home," he drawled. "Dr. Bashir will be representing the GE station population in jammies this evening as well."

"Oh, wonderful," Garak snarled, shoving his feet into slippers and following the GE cousins up to Ops.

"Well, Mr. Garak, how nice to see you again," Norleu drawled pleasantly. "Now, tell me, how can I nail your ex-fiancee, Talljet, for fraud? I'll settle for Hobie's head and let the other three go."

"I can't help you, Admiral, I'm as much a victim of Hobie's fraud as you are," Garak said, glancing at an abashed Memphis.

"So Johnny Memphis wants me to believe," Norleu said. "But I also believed Memphis was on my staff and now I find out he was keeping an eye on me, as well as poor Cyril for Fleet Intelligence all these years. Makes a man wonder just what to believe."

"Admiral, I don't know what Talljet did and I don't know how he did it," Garak said, coldly. "I did try to convince Wiskott-Aldrich that something was wrong but the Admiral was too busy using me to lure Talljet to him to listen. And now you want to blame me for it instead of him."

"Wiskott-Aldrich committed suicide three days ago," Norleu said. "We can blame him, but never get the truth."

"The truth might not exist in this deal," Garak said over the shocked silence. "If, as Memphis said, the Talljets distorted everyone's vision of things: experts, Vulcans, Betazoids; the lot. How can you ever know what really happened?"

"Well, I must try," Norleu said. "Cyril was a good friend of mine; I'd like to know why he went over the edge."

"Perhaps his grasp simply went beyond his reach," Garak said. "If he thought he could understand, let alone control a thing like Zbricacolvir..."

"Yeah, well, that was unfortunate," Norleu cut in. "You and Bashir could have saved us all some trouble by getting married earlier."

"What?" Bashir asked.

"What I said," Norleu barked. "Fleet granted you permission two weeks after Cyril and I were here for dinner." He stared at the blank faces around him. "I forwarded it to Cyril," he said, beginning to realize, "And he never told you, did he?"

"No, sir," Bashir said tightly. "Talljet forced him to allow us to marry before he'd sign the contract."

"Well, I suppose if he rots in hell for nothing else, he'll rot for that," Norleu said softly after a long moment.

"This could all have been avoided," Garak said, stunned. "All of it. Wiskott-Aldrich using me for bait for Hobie; Hobie using me for bait for Wiskott-Aldrich and Zbricacolvir. I hope they both rot in hell forever for this."

"Don't forget Jir and Ling," Norleu drawled. "They made the deal. Maja seems to be the only innocent bystander in this. Maja and EO."

"EO?"

"He did all his negotiations in good faith," Norleu explained. "EO was relying on Wiskott-Aldrich's experts and the Talljet reputation for honesty as much as anyone. It's unheard of for telepaths to behave the way the Talljets have."

"Or the way Zbricacolvir did?" Garak asked. "It's a big galaxy outside of the Federation, Admiral, not everyone plays by your rules."

Norleu looked around the room for an inspired answer to this and didn't find one. He sighed. "Mr. Garak, are you going to tell me what you know or shall I arrest you and get your statement from the brig of my ship?"

"From the beginning?" Garak asked. "From the night of the dinner here?" He settled back in his chair and watched Sisko turn the recorder on. "It's a long story; you might offer me some tea."

"Tea or something stronger for everyone," Norleu said, adding, "Please, Ben. It's going to be a long night."

"Mr. Garak?"

"Yes? May I help you?" Garak asked the severely dressed Vulcanoid in his shop. Something in the cut of his suit reminded him of the last time he'd seen Jir.

"My name is Syjat, I'm with the law firm of Sziriat and T'Paria..."

"And what do Vulcan lawyers want with me?" Garak said defensively.

"My firm is negotiating with the Federation Ministry of Justice in hopes that they will not bring charges against you," Syjat said in that annoyingly pedantic monotone Vulcan lawyers use to calm nervous clients. Or aliens that might become hysterical and attack them. It seemed to demoralize both enough to safely continue any discussion.

"I'm not guilty of ANYTHING!" Garak raged.

"We know; that's why we've undertaken negotiations with the Federation Ministry of Justice in hopes that they will not bring charges against you. We will try obtain immunity for you in exchange for your testimony."

"I'm sure I cannot afford your services," Garak said.

"T'Paga, Stez, Ambassador Spock, Lord Stonet, and Prince Strig have contracted to pay us for your defense."

"Why?" Garak asked suspiciously.

"Because they do not wish to see you or your consort further injured by the Talljets' misbehavior."

"Is the Federation trying to make a case against Bashir?" Garak was alarmed.

"Possibly."

"Why?" Garak sighed.

"Because they are running out of people to blame for their unfortunate business transaction with the Talljets."

"Are they insane?"

"I do not know, Mr. Garak," Syjat said. "I am a Vulcan and do not understand such things but I have it from a reliable source that the Federation is deeply embarrassed by the Talljet's perfectly legal swindle of Starfleet. And I am told that when Terrans are embarrassed, their pride will cause them to seek any balm, not matter how incredible. Starfleet has also paid an enormous sum of money for technology they cannot use. The Fleet does not like to be made to look foolish either."

"And who told you that, Mr. Syjat?"

"Ambassador Spock."

"Then it must be true. Please," Garak waved at his back room. "May we discuss this in more privacy?" If only to protect Bashir, Garak told himself, and decided to work with his attorney. "What do you need from me that brings you all the way from Vulcan, Mr. Syjat?"

"Depositions and affidavits from you and Dr. Bashir as to the events of your association with the Talljets primarily," Syjat said. "Supporting depositions and affidavits from Captain Sisko, Lieutenant Dax, Ambassador Worf, Commander Memphis, Chief O'Brien, Colonel Kira, Constable Odo, the Ferengi Quark, ThiaZole..."

"ThiaZole is dead."

"I see. We have already obtained depositions and affidavits from Captain Neria-Tza and Dr. Djerian. We had hoped to add ThiaZole's to that list. However, his, like Neria-Tza's, Djerian's and those we have obtained from the Talljet's children, are of secondary importance due to their lack of status in the Federation and Starfleet."

Garak reminded himself this was a Vulcan before him but could not resist. "So, ThiaZole's death is not important?"

"Not in your legal situation, no, but I can only help the living, Mr. Garak."

Realizing this was more sympathy than one would get out of the average Vulcan, Garak let the subject drop. 'Such dry sentiment,' he mused, 'ThiaZole would have approved.'

"So much talent; so misguided," Syjat said, looking at Maja's sketches of Garak's shop.

"I have more at home for you to sigh over," Garak said bitterly.

He closed the shop early and took Syjat home with him. The Vulcan remained as his and Bashir's guest for several days while he collected the needed information for Garak's defense.

Several months later he would contact Garak to let him know that his firm was able to have the charges dismissed. And even better news, that due to certain negotiations by Mr. EO, he had immunity from any possible future charges that might be brought against him in this matter.

It appeared that the Federation and Starfleet were going to let the blame for the swindle rest on the dead Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich. The issue was closed and everyone connected with the Fleet seemed to want to forget about it as soon as possible.

"You're falling asleep." Bashir tossed the reader aside and lifted Garak from his chest. "Let's go to bed, it's late anyway."

"I was listening," Garak protested sleepily but came fully awake at the door buzzer. "It's late; let's not answer."

"Oh, Elim, we've got to get back to normal someday," Bashir said. "This whole mess is behind us now. Come!"

Ambassador Spock and Master TienbaMajaKhat came in bearing a rolled up carpet between them.

"We apologize for the lateness of the hour," Spock said urbanely, setting the carpet on end.

"This was actually the earliest we could get here," Tien added.

"Get out," Garak growled.

"Please, Mr. Garak, we've come to apologize," Tien said, holding out his hands. "We thought we'd be the least likely..."

"Get out!"

"...to offend you and Dr. Bashir," he concluded and looked a Spock for guidance.

"And to offer our congratulations on your marriage," Spock said blandly. "And a belated wedding gift."

"A Micrian rug," Tien said brightly. "You so admired ours and I remembered the colors in your old quarters and..."

"Get out."

"And perhaps answer a few questions, if you have any," Tien said, straightening his cloak.

"Get..." Garak was eyeing the rug, which looked quite spectacular, even from the wrong side. The idea of finding out what really happened over the past year was quite tempting as well.

"There are some things we'd like to know," Bashir said, gesturing to the sofa. He offered them tea, which was accepted, and sat near Garak, who seemed to be sitting in a posture that would be good for lunging at them, if necessary. "My first question is, why did all this happen?"

"Revenge," Spock said simply. "To punish Admiral Wiskott-Aldrich for Izera 5."

"But Zbricacolvir took that planet," Bashir said.

"Only because Wiskott-Aldrich blocked Hobie's ships from rescuing it," Spock said. "Hobie had never thought to recover the planet but the desire for revenge against Starfleet was very strong. And when the Admiral was assigned here, Maja conceived a plan..."

"Maja!" Garak cried. "I thought he wasn't involved."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Garak, he was the mastermind of the swindle," Spock said. "You were merely the bait to bring Wiskott-Aldrich unawares into the Talljets' trap."

"Why me?" Garak asked.

"You were the most reasonable target of the Station residents," Spock said. "A member of Starfleet could have protested, Quark would have made a deal, ThiaZole would have told them all to go to hell. You were the only one vulnerable enough to keep the game going long enough for the kill."

"There was another reason, Mr. Garak," Tien said softly. "My parent was tortured by the Klingons as a heretic. Your past with the Obsidian Order made you an even more suitable sacrifice. A sort of round about absurd revenge again."

"A suitable sacrifice to Zbricacolvir?" Garak snarled.

"No. That was a separate and unfortunate complication," Spock said blandly.

"I would agree." Bashir mocked his tone, beginning to feel annoyed by their calm. "And why did that happen?"

Tien and Spock exchanged looks. Tien sighed, "Well, no one will admit to anything, but the JetCheqs think that Hobie saw an opportunity to retake Izera 5 and stabilize that part of the Zones for us. SaDobra, SaRija and Hobeia think it never occurred to him that Zbricacolvir would take you into the middle of his domain. When he did," Tien took a deep breath, "the only course was the all out war we'd been waiting for. We just didn't know you would be involved."

"Was I used as bait for Zbricacolvir?" Garak asked bluntly.

"I don't know," Tien admitted. "You certainly could have been better protected, Wiskott-Aldrich could have ordered Zbricacolvir off the station that day, Bot," Tien paused to swallow, "could have refused to race and taken you to safety. Many coulds. On the other hand, you could have married my Uncle after the qwooba hunt, which is what we all assumed was going to happen, and lived in safety, too."

"Oh, Tien, your Uncle never had the slightest feeling..." Garak began

"Polmira assures me that his parent's feelings for you are more profound than you might imagine," Tien insisted.

Garak turned to the VulCheq. "Ambassador, will you please explain to this child the difference between love and intrigue?"

"Mr. Garak, I no more understand love than I understand Hobie Talljet. I just accept both of them as facts I must cope with on this plane of existence. No more than I understand why Dr. Bashir allowed the hunters to link to him," Spock said, with a hint of admiration in his voice.

"They didn't do me any harm." Bashir said.

"And they did insist that the Talljets see you and Garak married before the deal with Wiskott-Aldrich was consummated," Spock said. "Do you know why?"

"I don't know how I know this but Yrit and Gvo believe in love and they wanted to reward me for risking more than I knew I had for Garak, who must surely be worth it if I thought so." Bashir tumbled his words out and looked at Garak.

"You never told me this," Garak said.

"It just all seemed like a dream, Elim, I was never sure what was real, except that I had to find you," Bashir said, more calmly. He looked up to find Tien studying him.

"Hobie and Jir said the hunters tethered you with two energy spikes, crossing at the solar plexus," Tien said carefully, watching Bashir's telefields ebb and flow in vibrant health around him. "My Uncles said that they removed the spikes and didn't leave a mark on you. Quite remarkable for such deadly creatures." He turned his attention to Garak, who was also in good telefield heath again. "Because they could not heal Mr. Garak directly, the hunters channeled their energy through you, through your love for Mr. Garak, to heal him more thoroughly than any normal empath could. I have never seen any being earn such esteem from them, as you have Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak. Never."

"Catanya was healing me before everyone else arrived," Garak said.

"Yes. Catanya has more to him than we knew. Rezdi as well, it was his idea to try to rescue you from Zbricacolvir with what resources he had," Tien said.

"Xriet was not involved?" Garak asked.

"Peripherally," Tien admitted. "But, according to Catanya, Rezdi was determined to help you no matter what."

"And now he, like Bot and SaKoszt is dead," Garak said flatly.

"The wheel turns, Mr. Garak; we cannot know the workings of the mind of god, we can just accept them," Tien sighed. "Others still live. Catanya and SaDobra have gone to Pholanian with Djerian to study healing. And perhaps be healed. Though he cannot heal anything with those machine hands, Hobeia has gone with them. I imagine he will study the Pholana's other empathic arts. Those four want nothing to do with any of us for the time being. The cousins might come back to us, but Djerian is so disgusted, I doubt we will ever see him again."

"I can rather understand that," Garak murmured.

"Although, who knows? It might change," Tien continued. "We live a long time in Cardassian terms, perhaps they will learn to love us again. We cannot know, some things are best left to time's grace and the will of the unknowable mind of god. We could use Djerian's skills now that Maja is ill. Laninin and several other empaths are at the Commune now, keeping his life force in him, but Djerian is the superior healer, alas." He paused to see if Garak had any sharp retort and seeing that he hadn't, said, "We've lost Neria-Tza, probably for good. He took his ships and crews out way far beyond any zones we travel in, said he never wants to see any of the Brothers Talljet again, but the JetCheqs are always welcome. We will certainly visit him as we love him very much and would miss him terribly, as my parent and uncles will. Especially Hobie; they were like brothers. I believe you have been a good influence on Neria, Mr. Garak."

"How so?" Garak asked.

"He said something about finding a Cardassian tailor of his own and settling down."

"And the rest of you?" Garak asked. "What will you do?"

"Mourn and go on with our lives," Tien said. "What else is there to do?"

"Be angry, seek revenge, hate your enemies," Garak snapped, annoyed by this savage's mildness.

"Those sentiments are exactly what brought us to this point, Mr. Garak," Tien said. "Please allow us to learn from our mistakes." He folded his tattooed hands in his lap. "As for revenge," he continued. "Against whom? Yrit and Gvo are more like natural causes than beings; Rezdi was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps the right place at the right time, if you don't believe in accidents. Hobeia reacted to his death the only way he could. Bot and SaKoszt were at war and there are risks in war. We have been relatively lucky as a family, it was simply time for our luck to run out. As bad as it was, it could have been worse. And still, to me, it wasn't worth it, none of it."

"And what do your Uncles think, Tien?" Garak asked.

"It was not worth it," Tien said. "Ling is being investigated by the Federation Securities Commission and Jir's law license has been suspended for a Vulcan year. Bot's death has hurt Hobie terribly, more than he wants us to know. Everyone is angry with them and Maja, for this stupid, wicked adventure. It will take a long time for us to heal."

"And perhaps you clan will stay out of trouble with the Federation?" Garak suggested.

"After this, Mr. Garak," Tien sighed. "We will certainly try. Will you forgive us if we succeed?"

"Perhaps, Tien," Garak said with a touch of his old slyness. "However, I would think more of you than I do now."

"And if we..." Tien began.

"Tien. We are not here to haggle with Mr. Garak," Spock said firmly.

"Yes, Father," Tien said rising, and suggesting they leave Dr. Bashir and GarakFara in peace. "Is there anything we can do for you, Mr. Garak? Something beneficial, I mean?" Tien asked as they were leaving.

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Something each and every Talljet, JetCheq, et cetera can do."

"Anything!"

"Stay far away from me and Dr. Bashir."

"It shall be as you say, Mr. Garak," Tien said, crossing his wrists at his waist and turning his hands palms ups and then palms down; saluting Garak as a Klingon Master salutes a Klingon warrior.

Spock raised his right hand in the traditional Vulcan manner and wished Garak and Bashir peace and long life.

Then they were gone and neither Garak nor Bashir ever saw them, or any of the Talljets, JetCheqs, or their friend or foes ever again. So, Garak assumed, Tien kept his word to him and in some part of his Cardassian soul he hoped the members of the Talljet clan were allowed to make peace with each other.

And peace for Hobie, Maja, Jir and Ling as well. In retrospect, Garak decided they had done as much damage to themselves as to him. Jir and Ling had each lost a child and were discredited and mistrusted in their professions, Hobie had lost another child, and Maja had had his soul turned inside out by Yrit and Gvo.

Possibly revenge is a dish best eaten cold, but even then it's hardly digestible.

But that night, after Tien and Spock left them, Garak simply asked Julian to help him move the furniture so they could put down the excellent new rug. Then they made love on it. And as Garak dozed in his spouse's arms, he looked forward to a peaceful, happy, intrigue-free future. "Julian?"

"Hmmmm?"

"What did Yrit and Gvo say to you after our wedding? Before you saw them for what they were?"

"You've waited a long time to ask about it, haven't you?"

"Yes. What did they say?"

"They said we should try to be as happy as possible for as long as possible. To leave suffering, revenge, rage, fear, sorrow, and regret alone because God truly is guiding this reality. To enjoy it as much as possible as we are certainly doomed it endure it anyway."

Garak mulled this over for a moment and then said, "What excellent advice."

"Well, I thought so."

Nearing their home in the Gozshedrefreingin Commune, Tien looked over at Spock. They very seldom had any time alone and they'd grown close on this errand. Theirs was a difficult father and son relationship; they had only met when Tien was grown and had learned to respect each other as individuals, without much of the parent-child bond. Even so, Tien mourned that soon the closeness this mission had inspired would be overwhelmed by Spock's natural Vulcan reserve and Tien's position as a Klingon Master. With that in mind, Tien decided to risk it in these waning moments and asked, "Do you believe in love, Spock?"

Spock looked away from the vehicle's controls to gauge the seriousness of the question and found it, and the questioner, worthy. "Yes," he said. "Fathom it, no; believe in it, yes."

Tien smiled and his soul rejoiced when a glimmer of humor lit his father's dark eyes.

"Hochofedra," Spock said and shrugged.

~*~ THE END ~*~

~*~ Epilogue ~*~

They never did find Mrs. Azbury.

~*~ END OF EPILOGUE/END OF STORY ~*~

Some feedback on The Talljet Quartet.

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By Karmen Ghia, © 2001
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