Kh'rat-laTitle:   Kh'rat-la 
Author:  Kathryn Ramage 
Series:  DS9 
Codes:   G/B 
Rating:  PG 
Summary: After Garak uses Bashir to foil Dukat's schemes in the episode 
"Cardassians," Dukat turns his attention toward the hapless doctor. 
Setting: 2nd season, beginning right at the end of "Cardassians." 
Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters even if they never really knew 
what to do with them.  This story was written purely for entertainment purposes. 

Thanks to Heather, Saklani, and Shezan for their beta-reading. 
Copyright February 2001 
-*|!|*- 
After the truth about the abduction and abandoning of Kotan Pa'Dar's son had 
been exposed and Dukat's carefully laid plans to destroy his political enemy 
were ruined, the Gul stalked out of the schoolroom on DS9 without saying another 
word.  Bashir imagined that Dukat intended to leave the station immediately, but 
when he and Garak stepped out onto the Promenade a few minutes later, Dukat was 
waiting for them. 
"Ah, Dukat!" Garak cried with exaggerated enthusiasm.  "I'm so glad to see you 
haven't gone yet--I understand that there's going to be a party at Quark's to 
celebrate the reunion of Pa'Dar and his missing son.  It just wouldn't be the 
same without you." 
"Don't celebrate your triumph yet, Tailor," Dukat hissed back. "Whatever victory 
you think you've won today, it's been a minor one.  I will see you regret it--" 
his eyes flickered briefly to Bashir, "You, and your snapling kh'rat-la." 
Bashir was surprised to feel Garak's arm steal around him. But, as Dukat turned 
abruptly and walked away, the tailor covered this gesture by using his hand at  
Bashir's waist to guide him in the opposite direction, toward the Replimat. 
"I think, Doctor," he said in a cheerful tone that sounded more false than 
usual, "that we could both use a bracing drink.  It's too early in the day for 
synthehol.  What about a cup of that Tarkelean tea you enjoy so much?" 
A table was obtained and tea ordered from the nearest replicator; as Garak 
brought the cups over to where Julian sat waiting, the doctor asked him, "What 
was that Dukat called me?  A 'snapling kh'rat-la'?  It sounds like some sort of 
insult." 
"It was."  Garak took his seat before he explained:  "On Cardassia, we have a 
traditional hunting beast called the kh'rat. They are fearsome animals when 
fully grown, capable of tearing the throat out of a Hebitian mountain bull--or a 
man, if that's what they've been trained to do.  The young 
kh'rat--kh'rat-la--have the same ferocity, but they don't exactly strike terror 
in anyone's heart.  A 'snapling,' you see, hasn't grown its fangs yet.  For all 
its enthusiasm, it's quite harmless." 
"A puppy," Julian murmured, crestfallen.  He'd been so pleased with himself for 
untangling the mystery of Rugal's origins and flinging the truth in Dukat's 
face; now, he saw how he must have appeared to the swaggering Gul.  "A yelping 
puppy, snapping at his ankles." 
Garak gave him a sympathetic smile.  "You mustn't take it personally.  I assure 
you, Dukat wouldn't have said it if you'd been nothing more than a toothless  
annoyance.  My 'puppy' managed to bite hard enough to draw blood."  He sounded 
so genuinely proud that Julian began to feel heartened again. 
"We did get him, didn't we?" 
"_You_ did, Doctor.  I merely showed you where to look for clues." 
"But he threatened us.  He said we'd regret it." 
"Oh, I wouldn't be too worried about that," the tailor answered easily. 
But Bashir remembered that protective arm around him, and he wondered if Garak 
was more worried than he wanted to reveal. 
-*|!|*- 
In the weeks that followed, he had little time to think about Dukat's threat.  
Other, more immediate matters claimed his attention: Quark was nearly murdered 
by a Bajoran blackmailer; he had a brief, intense fling with an Elaysian ensign; 
and, whenever he could, he traveled to Bajor to visit the orphans. 
"I can ensure that they have adequate medical care," he told Garak when they met 
for lunch after he returned from his latest trip.  "I give them inoculations, 
repair all their scrapes and bruises, but I wish there was something more I 
could do for them. They need so much." He sighed. "The Cardassian government 
isn't going to do anything, is it?" After the discovery of Pa'Dar's lost son, 
there had been some vague promises to look into the situation of the other 
children left behind on Bajor but, so far, nothing had happened. 
"No, Doctor, I'm afraid not." 
"I didn't think so." After what Garak had told him about Cardassia's view of 
orphaned, illegitimate, and otherwise unclaimed children, he was not surprised, 
only dismayed. 
"I know how distressed you are about the plight of the orphans," Garak said, 
"but _I_ know what life is like for an unwanted child on Cardassia.  Believe me, 
those children are better off where they are." Before Julian could challenge 
this statement, he added, "It's commendable of you to want to do all you can to 
help them, 
but I must say that I wish you wouldn't go there so often by yourself.  Surely 
someone--Chief O'Brien, perhaps--could accompany you?" 
"Chief O'Brien's made it plain that he won't ever go to Bajor with me again 
unless it's under a direct order from Commander Sisko."  Then, with a smile, he 
asked, "Why don't _you_ come with me, Garak?  I'm sure the Cardassian children 
would be happy to see you again.  They hear so many horror stories about the 
Occupation--it'd be nice for them to talk to someone who could tell them more 
about their own people than what murderous monsters they are.  You'd be a 
positive role model for them." 
The tailor seemed amused and somewhat embarrassed by this suggestion.  "I will 
consider it.  Our last trip to Bajor was sufficient for me, but it would be 
better than letting you go alone." 
Julian began to understand.  "You _are_ worried about Dukat, aren't you?" 
"I told you you needn't be concerned about him." 
"Yes, but you were lying then, and you're still lying now."  The last time Garak 
had played one of these evasive games for too long, Bashir had finally refused 
to go any farther until the Cardassian explained a few things.  He tried the 
same tactic now.  "Garak, I want the truth or, so help me, I'll- I'll get up and 
leave this table right now."  This wasn't as effective as stopping a runabout in 
space, but there wasn't much else he could do under the circumstances.  "_Tell 
me_.  It is Gul Dukat, isn't it?  You're afraid he'll try to- what? Kidnap me?  
Kill me?" 
Instead of letting him walk away, Garak studied the doctor's face for a few 
minutes before he answered reluctantly, "If there's one thing I can tell you 
about Dukat, it's that he's at his most dangerous with people who can't defend 
themselves--Bajoran slave-workers, the unfortunate Glinns under his command, his 
long-suffering wife.  You are too vulnerable in a runabout by yourself, even 
between here and Bajor.  You might easily disappear without a trace and there 
would be nothing that I or Commander Sisko could do." 
Bashir was stunned by this very serious and earnest-sounding expression of 
concern for his safety.  "You and Dukat," he asked, "why do you hate each other 
so much?" 
The seriousness was gone.  "What makes you think we do?" 
"Garak, come on!  You've hardly been discreet about it."  He had only observed 
the two Cardassians interacting on that one occasion, but every 
dripping-with-acid word they had spoken, every stabbing look exchanged between 
them, declared an intense and mutual hatred.  Given the opportunity, they would 
kill each other gleefully.  "I can _see_ that you're old enemies.  But why?" 
"I've already told you, Doctor--you have enough information to put the pieces 
together for yourself." 
"All right," the younger man sighed, and surrendered to play the game by Garak's 
rules.  "You knew Dukat during the Occupation. He was commander of this station 
when it was Terek Nor.  Were you here then?" 
"Only during the very end of his prefecture," Garak admitted. 
"But you weren't a 'plain and simple' tailor in those days, were you?" 
This question produced a smile.  "You won't believe it, but I did come here to 
open a clothing shop.  It seemed like a good business venture at the time." 
Bashir didn't believe it.  "So what happened between you and Dukat?"  He knew he 
wouldn't get an honest answer, and Garak didn't disappoint. 
"If you must know, it began with a disagreement over the cut of a festival 
tunic.  We Cardassians take great pride in our personal appearance.  You 
wouldn't guess it  from the way he dresses for his professional duties, but 
Dukat is most particular about his civilian clothes.  He's especially vain about 
his clavicle ridges. The neckline I designed wasn't low enough to suit him and 
before I knew what had happened, this minor difference of opinion had escalated 
out of all proportion and Dukat was calling for my banishment." 
"Garak!"  Julian made a more plausible guess:  "_Is_ Dukat responsible for your 
being here?  Did he assign you to remain behind and keep an eye on the 
Federation for your people?" 
"I never said I was assigned to stay behind," Garak replied. "I stayed 
voluntarily.  I saw how much my services would be needed.  The Bajorans had just 
emerged from a grueling fight for their freedom and were in tattered rags.  I 
could supply them with fashionable clothing.  I've contributed to the wardrobes 
of a few well-placed Bajorans, but unfortunately, I wasn't able to convince the 
Militia to adopt more attractive uniforms--due to Major Kira's influence, I'm 
certain." 
Julian felt like giving him a swift kick under the table.  Infuriating, elusive 
man!  They shared a lunch table so often but, even after all this time, he knew 
so little about him. Why all these lies?  Could he trust one word Garak said? 
Could he even truly call Garak a friend? 
"Is it something _you_ did to him?" he guessed again.  "Something to do with his 
'long-suffering wife'?" 
Garak's eyes went wide in astonishment.  "Oh, my dear Doctor--what an 
imagination you have!"  And he began to laugh so loudly that people at the other 
tables around them and on the Promenade turned to stare.  Julian slouched low in 
his chair, blushing with mortification. 
When the tailor regained his composure, he beamed at Bashir with a sort of fond 
indulgence.  "No, Doctor, nothing like that." 
"What then?" 
"Perhaps I will tell you all about it...someday.  For the present, I can only 
repeat that it would be better if you took precautions to stay out of Dukat's 
grasp.  As long as you are on this station, you'll be safe." 
-*|!|*- 
But Bashir was not very worried; there had been no sign of Gul Dukat for weeks.  
And, whatever lies and half-truths Garak had told him, he did believe the tailor 
was right about one thing: Dukat would not try to harm him on DS9. 
Then, late one afternoon while he was alone in his office in the Infirmary, he 
heard an unpleasantly familiar voice say, "Dr. Bashir," and he turned to find 
Dukat standing in the doorway behind him. 
Bashir leapt up from his chair.  "Does Commander Sisko know you're on the 
station?" 
"I'm expected up in Ops, but I thought I'd stop here on the Promenade and visit 
you first," Dukat explained as he advanced, smiling with a toothiness that 
Bashir did not find reassuring; even though Dukat was trying to appear more 
congenial, his attitude had not changed since the last time they'd met.  "I 
wanted to see you particularly, Doctor. I never paid the proper attention to you 
before, but after you showed yourself to be so...involved in matters that 
shouldn't concern you, I can see 
that that was a mistake.  I underestimated your importance in the greater scheme 
of things." 
"I don't know what you mean." 
"Don't you?" the Gul smirked.  "What I mean is that you're not simply Sisko's 
medical officer.  No.  You're Garak's latest protege.  Garak's Federation 
informant.  Garak's..."  As he circled behind the doctor, his eyes went up and 
down the human's slender body.  "What else are you, I wonder?"  And he leaned 
close to murmur a word in Kardasi, "Phren'atkli?" in a low, insinuating tone, 
enunciating each syllable with a relish that made Bashir quickly step away from 
him. 
"Wh- what?" 
But Dukat only chuckled, "Now what would Commander Sisko say if he knew about 
_that_?" and left Bashir standing there with his mouth open. 
-*|!|*- 
After Dukat entered the lift directly opposite the Infirmary, Bashir sped down 
the Promenade to Garak's shop.  The tailor, straightening the garments on one of 
the display racks, looked up in surprise as he burst in. 
"Dukat's here," he announced breathlessly. 
"You've seen him?" 
"He came to see me," Julian answered.  "He said he's going to pay more attention 
to me in future.  He barely knew who I was, Garak, before you sicced me on him!  
_You_ put me in the middle of this!" 
Garak approached him, hands out as if he meant to calm the young man down.  
"Doctor, I assure you, that was not what I intended." 
"Didn't you?  Weren't you training your 'puppy' to go after your enemies?  Isn't 
that why you picked me out?"  He hadn't planned to lash out at Garak like this, 
but he was angry and frightened; he had inadvertently become involved in some 
long-standing feud between the two Cardassians, and he could no longer suppress 
his worst suspicions.  "I was the most naive and pliable Starfleet officer on 
DS9--the one most easy to gain some influence over. The one you could use." 
Instead of trying to answer this accusation, Garak took him by the shoulders.  
Julian cried out and slapped at his hands, but before he could begin to put up 
more than a half-hearted fight, he found himself suddenly spun around and held 
with his back against the tailor's chest.  Garak pulled him swiftly into the 
small office at the back of the shop and thrust him into a chair. 
"I would prefer it if you didn't make a scene, Doctor," Garak said sternly.  
"This isn't Quark's--An hysterical Starfleet officer in front of _my_ shop does 
not draw more business."  Julian tried to get up; Garak pushed him back.  "Now, 
you're going to sit there until you're ready to discuss this calmly.  I will 
wait." 
Bashir squirmed under the hands that had pinned him, but the Cardassian was 
stronger than he had expected.  After a minute, he stopped.  Garak let him go. 
"All right then," asked Julian, "what did you mean to do?" 
"To sting Dukat, yes.  To watch his plans crumble.  You knew that, but you 
didn't seem upset about it before." 
"No," he admitted. "I could see that by discovering the truth, I was serving 
justice--for Rugal and the other Cardassian children." 
"As was I, Doctor, although I do admit, not for the same reasons you were.  But 
as long as both your sense of justice and mine were served, why quibble?"  Then 
he added in a more concilatory tone, "I'm sorry that Dukat has turned his 
attention to you.  I thought that he would try to take revenge against _me_, as 
the one truly 
responsible for all of this." 
"In a way, he has," said Julian.  "He's not interested in me; he thinks I'm 
connected to you in some sort of covert relationship.  He sees me as your 
agent--he made that very clear.  He practically accused me of being a spy for 
you.  Or your phren'atkli." 
Garak started at this last, badly pronounced term.  "Where did you hear that 
word?" 
"It's what Dukat called me this time.  Your 'phren'atkli'.  What does it mean?  
Is it another insult?" 
"No, not normally.  It's more of an archaic religious term," the tailor answered 
ambiguously.  Then he added, more to himself, "although I find it hard to see 
Dukat as a classicist." 
"Garak, what are we going to do?" 
"Wait," said Garak.  "Let's see what Dukat does next." 
"That's easy for _you_ to say.  He didn't just drop by to sneer veiled threats 
at you." 
"No, but he has more often on previous occasions than I care to remember--and 
they haven't always been veiled.  You mustn't let them cloud your thinking.  The 
 most effective way to deal with Dukat is to ignore his threats and find out 
what he really plans to do.  Once we know _that_, we can form our own strategy." 

Julian had to admit that this sounded reasonable.  "All right," he consented.  
"I'll wait." 
-*|!|*- 
After some consideration, he decided to report the incident to Odo, but since 
Dukat had not made any explicit threats, there was little the constable could 
do.  Odo promised to keep an eye on Dukat as long as he remained on the station, 
and when the Gul's ship departed that same afternoon before Bashir finished his 
shift, the matter was considered closed. 
But there was one thing he still needed to find out: 
"Computer," he ordered when he arrived in his quarters that evening, "translate 
the Kardasi term 'phren'atkli'." 
[[Term not found.]] 
Perhaps the word was not in the language database.  That was all too likely: the 
Kardasi-Federation Standard dictionary was not comprehensive, with the Kardasi 
vocabulary primarily garnered from everyday conversational terms, literary 
texts, and a few other documents.  There were plenty of gaps. 
He tried again.  "Can you locate phonetically similar Kardasi words or phrases, 
using the root 'phren'?" 
[[Working...  There are 14 entries containing the root syllable 'phren'.]] 
"List them on screen." 
He read the first few entries: 
[[ophrene - noun, obsolete (plural form: ophreti) - a celebrant of Ophret, the 
Hebitian goddess of fertility. 
ophret'na - noun, obsolete - ceremonial rites dedicated to the goddess Ophret 
phrena - verb - to engage in a sexual act. Usually considered vulgar; also see 
'sproag'. 
phreng'akt or phren'kt - noun, obsolete  - a courtesan.  In more current usage, 
kept prostitute, mistress.]] 
Bashir could follow the general trend.  Archaic religious term! Well, at least 
he knew now what Dukat was insinuating; the 'atkli' suffix must be a masculine 
variant. 
He took a long shower and went to bed, but couldn't sleep as he mulled over the 
implications of this latest piece of innuendo. Garak had said that 'phren'atkli' 
wasn't necessarily an insult --and maybe it was a simple descriptive term for a 
kept, male lover; for all he knew, that type of arrangement might be perfectly 
acceptable in Cardassian society--but Julian couldn't forget the way Dukat had 
pronounced the word, slowly measuring it out in that sneering tone to make it 
sound as filthy as possible. 
Had the Gul expected him to know what the word meant, or was it supposed to be a 
taunt at his ignorance because Dukat knew he wouldn't understand?  Was it an 
attempt to taint his friendship with Garak?  Or had Dukat, who must know Garak 
much better than _he_ did, automatically assumed that a young man under Garak's 
tutelage must be sleeping with him as well? 
He wasn't shocked by the suggestion itself.  After all, this wasn't the first 
time he'd considered Garak in a sexual light--the possibility had never been 
very far from his mind since the day the only Cardassian remaining on DS9 had 
introduced himself to offer 'a bit of enjoyable companionship now and then'.  He 
certainly wasn't adverse to the idea of going to bed with another man, not even 
a Cardassian.  Not even Garak.  But he knew it would be idiotic to get involved 
with a suspected spy in any way more intimate than an occasional lunch date.  
And even if Garak were not a spy, could he ever be sure what the mysterious 
tailor really wanted from him? 
Was he merely a dalliance to alleviate the lone Cardassian's boredom?  Or did 
Garak see him as a means of infiltrating the Federation?  Or was Garak planning 
to train him to use against enemies like Dukat?  Garak had never actually denied 
that accusation. 
He was aware that Garak had primed him for the task of confronting Dukat, had 
guided him toward enough information to put the pieces together, then sent him 
to expose the truth.  He recalled how, all during his questioning of Dukat, 
Garak had stood silently in the background, watching him attack, watching 
Dukat's reactions, and smirking in satisfaction. 
Garak had sought him out from the first, and seemed to enjoy the time they spent 
together, but Julian couldn't help wondering if he was being used in some way.  
He saw no sign that Garak held any deep affection for him--or, at least, he 
hadn't until... 
Julian was torn from these troubling thoughts by the soft but unmistakable sound 
of footsteps in the next room.  Someone was in his quarters. 
It must be Garak; the tailor had entered his room once before, waking him to 
drag him off to Bajor in the middle of the night.  Julian wasn't going to put up 
with that kind of stunt twice. 
He sat up and called out "Garak!" in a tone sharp with irritation--as well as 
some self-consciousness, given his recent train of thought. 
A dark shape appeared in the bedroom doorway.  "Ah, Dr. Bashir. I didn't mean to 
wake you yet." 
Not Garak. Dukat. 
Julian kicked off the blanket and leapt out of bed.  A quick glance around the 
dimly-lit room, and he located his commbadge--still attached to his uniform, 
which was flung over a chair on the other side of the room.  "What the hell do 
you want?" he demanded, furious and terrified. 
"To talk to you."  The Gul advanced into the room, effectively blocking his only 
avenue of escape.  "I was hoping to do this aboard my ship, where we could have 
a few hours together without interruption, but as long as you're awake, there's 
no reason why we can't do it here." 
"Do what?"  Bashir stepped backwards, and stumbled when his calves hit the edge 
of the bed behind him.  He sat down heavily. "If you're planning to murder me, 
you won't get away with it." 
"Oh, no," Dukat answered pleasantly, "nothing like that." 
What then?  Julian considered the possibilities:  Hold him hostage to draw Garak 
off the station?  Break a few of bones? Or--with a new pang of horror--rape him? 
 If Dukat did believe he was Garak's lover, then he might take a malicious 
pleasure in despoiling something that belonged to his rival. 
As he scrambled back into the corner, a sudden smile glinted in the dim light, 
as if Dukat knew exactly what he was thinking. But the Gul went on speaking in 
that same pleasant, soothing tone, "I can imagine what appalling acts of 
violence Garak's told you I might commit because of our last disagreement but, 
believe me, 
Doctor--I mean you no harm.  As I said, I merely want to talk." 
"Talk," Julian echoed warily. 
"Talk.  I was hoping to convince you what a mistake you've made in choosing 
Garak for an ally.  You've formed a dangerous connection with a man who can do 
you more damage than I think you realize."  He stepped forward to stand over 
Bashir.  "I can tell you all about Garak.  I'm sure he's kept you in the dark 
about his past, and there are things you'd like to know...hm? I can answer every 
question you have about him.  When you hear what I have to tell you, you'll 
understand how wrong you've been. You'll see that whatever I do to him, he will 
deserve it." 
As eager as he was to learn more about Garak, Julian knew that this wasn't the 
opportunity.  "Why should I believe you?" 
Dukat seemed surprised by the question.  "I'm saying this for _your_ benefit, 
Doctor Bashir.  I can see that you're an intelligent young man--resourceful, 
brave-" with an amused glance over the cornered human, who glared up at him 
defiantly, "willing to listen to reason.  I can foresee a distinguished career 
in your future, provided you don't sabotage it by recklessly associating with 
questionable people.  What do your Federation superiors think of your 
relationship with Garak, Doctor? I'm sure Commander Sisko has been tolerant so 
far, but there are limits to what he'll put up with.  Your Starfleet isn't so 
different from our military that it will permit risks 
to security, or breaches of acceptable conduct.  I know what a fragile thing a 
reputation is.  I know how easily the career of a promising young officer can be 
compromised, or even destroyed.  It would be tragic to see that happen to you, 
and all because of someone like Garak." 
Julian wasn't deceived; this sudden concern for his best interests was only 
another effort to undermine his supposed alliance with Garak--as if he didn't 
have enough doubts of his own!  "It won't work, Dukat," he retorted.  "There's 
nothing you can say that will turn me against him." 
"Isn't there?" Dukat sat down beside him.  "You'd be surprised. You have no idea 
what he is, or what he's done.  Your friend, the unassuming tailor, has a long 
history of betraying anyone foolish enough to trust him.  I have personal 
experience of _that_." 
"You?" he asked suspiciously. 
"Oh, yes.  Years ago.  And he'll do the same to you, once he has what he wants.  
Surely you don't think he takes a genuine interest in _you_?  No--you're only 
the means to obtain his goal.  And, if you become an encumbrance-" one hand 
swept close to Bashir's throat as if he would slit it with his fingertips.  "He 
won't 
hesitate to remove you." 
Bashir recoiled from the slicing gesture.  "Garak wouldn't do that!" 
"No?  You think Garak wouldn't commit an advantageous murder?" 
"Maybe he would, but you could tell me anything--how do I know what is and isn't 
true?" 
That smile flashed again.  "You know, Doctor, I find it extremely amusing that 
you question everything _I_ say, but you'll take Garak at his word." 
"I've never had his word," Julian responded, "but, yes, I'd believe him before 
I'd believe you."  He had no good reason to trust Garak more than Dukat--one man 
might be just as treacherous as the other, and perhaps both considered him an 
easily manipulated pawn in whatever game they were playing--but there it 
was.  "I never wanted to be in the middle of this, but if I have to choose 
sides, then I am with him." 
Dukat regarded him with a spark of new interest.  "I hadn't realized that you'd 
grown so close." 
"Yes, we have," Julian said stubbornly; he knew what Dukat was insinuating, but 
he didn't care.  "I won't betray him." 
"I see..." Dukat considered him for a moment.  "If it were for anyone else, I 
would find your loyalty admirable--but for Garak, it's sadly misplaced.  Well, 
if he's managed to win that kind of devotion from you so quickly, I can see it's 
going to be very hard to persuade you.  We'll just have to try another 
approach." 
He reached for Bashir, but the young man lashed out with one fierce kick and 
made a leap for his commbadge.  Dukat caught him about his waist and flung him 
back down onto the bed.  Bashir shouted, kicked, tried to fight his way free, 
but once again he was overpowered by that unexpected Cardassian strength. 
Dukat pinned him effortlessly, then leaned close so that he was nose-to-nose 
with his squirming captive. "I think we'd better continue this discussion aboard 
my ship after all." 
As he hauled the struggling doctor up, a familiar voice spoke from the darkness 
beyond the doorway:  "I do hope you won't.  I'd hate to miss the end of such a 
fascinating conversation." 
And Garak entered the room. 
-*|!|*- 
"Garak," Dukat spat the name as he let Bashir drop.  "What a surprise to find 
you here." 
Garak ignored him.  "Please forgive me for taking so long to come to your 
rescue, Doctor, but I didn't want to interrupt. You haven't been harmed, have 
you?" 
"I'm all right."  Julian knew he ought to be furious with Garak for sneaking 
into his quarters, but under the circumstances it was impossible to be angry.  
The tailor's appearance couldn't have been more welcome if he had actually been 
wearing shining armor.  "When did you come in?" 
"Oh, I've been here for hours, sitting quietly in the dark, waiting for 
something to happen." 
"You _knew_ he was going to do this?" 
"I certainly wouldn't be hiding behind your sofa for half the night if I didn't 
think it was warranted," Garak replied pleasantly; in fact, he seemed very 
casual about the entire situation--smiling as he stood in the doorway, hands 
clasped loosely behind his back.  "After you told me our old friend Dukat had 
paid you one visit today, I expected a second.  When his ship departed so 
abruptly, I was very suspicious. It seemed only prudent to keep watch--just in 
case he returned.  And, you see, my suspicions were correct." 
"I haven't touched your little Starfleet doctor," said Dukat. "But he's more to 
you than that, isn't he?" 
"He's an amusement," Garak answered.  "Life here has been so dreary since you 
abandoned the space station to the Bajorans. And he has his practical uses.  
You've said so yourself.  You'd better be careful, Dukat--if 
anything...unfortunate happens to me, I will be avenged." 
This threat produced a contemptuous laugh.  "By _him_?" Dukat waved one hand at 
the doctor, who was still sprawled on the bed. "I've seen your kh'rat-la in 
action, Garak.  He yelps, and he snarls, and he snaps, but he has no teeth." 
"Even the smallest kh'rat-la cuts its fangs eventually," Garak rejoined, keeping 
up his side of this malicious repartee.  "I admit, he's not quite up to the task 
yet, but give him time.  He'll surprise you." 
"Why wait to be surprised?  What's to prevent me from eliminating both of you 
now?" 
"For one thing, Commander Sisko wouldn't like it.  You know you want to keep on 
good terms with him." 
"Sisko wouldn't mind if I killed _you_," Dukat retorted.  "As a matter of fact, 
I think he'd be as relieved to be rid of you as I would."  And he reached for 
his disruptor. 
Julian was astonished by the swiftness with which both men moved: The instant 
Dukat touched his sidearm, Garak brought out the disruptor he had been hiding 
behind his back and fired first.  The Gul feinted to one side, and the disruptor 
fire hit the wall above the bed.  Julian leapt just in time to avoid the blast 
himself, but he felt the force of it at his back as if he'd been physically 
shoved.  He landed on the floor at the foot of the bed. 
While he stayed down, out of the range of fire, he couldn't see what was 
happening, but he heard the *whizz* of several more disruptor shots in close 
order; the acrid, ozone-tanged scent of vaporized synthetics filled the air.  He 
couldn't quite believe this was happening: He'd been so afraid of being caught 
in the middle of an unnamed feud between the two Cardassians, and here they were 
fighting it out in his bedroom! 
He didn't immediately feel the hot ripples of pain down his back; when he did, 
he lifted his left arm to find that a large patch of pajama fabric had been 
vaporized, and the skin beneath was scorched.  Blood was beginning to seep 
through.  He had been hit after all. 
There was another volley of shots, and Garak took cover at the foot of the bed 
beside him. 
"Uh- Garak, I don't want to interrupt..."  As much as he needed Garak to win 
this fight, he was beginning to feel faint. 
The tailor was crouched over him, watching the open door to the bathroom where 
Dukat had retreated and waiting for an opportunity to shoot, and he did not look 
down as he answered, "Stay calm, Doctor.  We only need to keep ourselves alive 
until Constable Odo's security arrives to investigate.  The station's sensors 
must have detected all this disruptor fire.  It shouldn't be much longer." 
He gave Bashir's shoulder a reassuring pat, and touched the blood- damp cloth.  
He quickly glanced down, and his expression changed; for the first time, Julian 
saw him with an unguarded look of alarm and dismay. 
Then it was gone, replaced by a determined frown. Garak lifted his disruptor and 
deliberately shot--not at Dukat, but at the slanting light panel above the head 
of the bed.  There was a bright flash as the panel shattered and sparks showered 
down.  The computer sounded the fire alarm.  As a deluge of misty-white fire 
suppressant issued from apertures around the ceiling, Dukat touched the 
communicator on his uniform breastplate and was transported out. 
Garak darted out to pluck the commbadge from his uniform and returned to his 
side.  "Computer, lock onto these coordinates and transport two directly to the 
Infirmary." 
In the seconds before the transporter engaged and he lost consciousness, Julian 
felt himself gathered up and held close. The last thing he heard was Garak's 
whisper, "Oh, my dear..." 
-*|!|*- 
He woke in the Infirmary, lying on his side on a biobed.  The remnants of his 
pajama top had been removed and a nurse was applying a dermal regenerator to the 
burnt skin on his back.  When he tried to push himself up, she took him firmly 
by the shoulder.  "Dr. Bashir, please lie still.  I'm not finished yet." 
"Where's Garak?" 
"Here, Doctor."  The tailor spoke from the other side of the room, where he 
stood with Odo and Sisko.  "I was just attempting to explain why Dukat was in 
your quarters in the middle of the night, and how I happened to be there in time 
to chase him away." 
They came over to him.  "If you're feeling up to it, Doctor," said Sisko, "I 
hope you can clear this up.  Odo tells me that Dukat threatened you 
earlier--Why?  Does all of this have something to do with Kotan Pa'Dar and his 
son?" 
Bashir sat up and the nurse helped him into a hospital gown. "Yes, sir," he 
answered.  "It began with that, but there's more to it.  Dukat seems to think 
I'm- ah- Garak's." 
"Garak's _what_?" 
"Student.  Since that incident with Pa'Dar, he's got this idea that we're 
allies, and tonight he tried to win me over to his side.  He wanted me to betray 
Garak and, when I wouldn't, he got rough." 
"And that was when he shot you?" 
"That was an accident, sir," Julian said evasively.  "When the shooting started, 
I got caught in the crossfire." 
Garak, who had hung back from the interview, looked up, intrigued by this 
not-quite truthful answer. 
The commander and Odo remained doubtful until Julian completed his account of 
events, and then Odo admitted grudgingly, "That does confirm what Garak told 
us." 
"We'll leave you to rest now, Doctor," Sisko concluded.  "We can discuss what to 
do about Dukat in the morning." 
"Yes, sir." 
After Odo had left the Infirmary, and Sisko turned to the nurse to receive her 
report on Bashir's condition, Garak came forward. 
"My apologies, Doctor," he said brightly.  "I'm afraid your quarters are going 
to be uninhabitable for a few days, until the damage can be repaired."  Then, 
after the others had gone,he took a seat beside the biobed and added in a 
softer, more sincere tone, "And I am very sorry to have placed you in danger.  I 
wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you had been hurt irreparably because of 
me.  Dukat may not think much of your loyalty, but _I_ am frankly touched by 
it."  He wasn't 
just referring to Dukat's attempts to subvert him, Julian understood, but also 
to his omission of crucial facts about how he had been shot.  "I would hate to 
lose so steadfast a friend." 
"This isn't over, is it?" asked Bashir. 
"No, it's not.  We haven't seen the last of Dukat.  He won't forget what 
happened here tonight." 
Julian sighed.  "He was right about one thing.  I was as helpless as a puppy.  
If you hadn't been there, he could've done anything he wanted with me, even 
killed me, and I wouldn't have been able to stop him." 
"You're young yet," Garak said consolingly, "and inexperienced.  You are 
vulnerable, Doctor--I'm glad that you realize that now. You need to know how to 
protect yourself against people like Gul Dukat.  I won't always be there to 
rescue you.  You've shown a great deal of promise already, but you've got a lot 
to learn." 
"And you'll teach me."  He returned to the questions that had troubled him in 
the night:  "Why do you take such an interest me, Garak?  Is what you told Dukat 
true?  You're training me--I'm supposed to avenge your death if he's 
responsible?" 
Garak smiled.  "I could die happy if I believed you would, but I understand that 
that may be too much to ask from a human.  It really doesn't matter, as long as 
Dukat believes you might.  Oh, of course he doubts that a Starfleet officer will 
ever abandon Federation principles, but if there is the slightest possibility 
that you might act on my behalf...  It may keep him from being too much of a 
nuisance." 
"Is it what Dukat thinks?" Julian persisted.  "That I-  That I'm your- ah- 
phren'atkli?" 
"Really, Doctor," Garak responded with impatience and a somewhat puzzled look.  
"Haven't we settled that already?" 
"No, I don't think we have." 
"I don't know what else I can say to assure you.  Whatever doubts Dukat has 
about your abilities-" then he stopped; his look of puzzlement faded.  "You do 
know what that word means, don't you?" 
"I have an inkling."  But this was said with increasing uncertainty. 
"Doctor," Garak explained, "phren'atkli were members of our traditional guild of 
assassins, followers of the Hebitian goddess Ophret." 
"But I-" Bashir began to stammer, realizing that he had made a terrible blunder. 
 "I thought Ophret was the goddess of- ah-fertility." 
"She was--the giver of life, and of its end, in the great cycle of all things.  
If I'd known you were interested in our old religious cults, I would have lent 
you some books on the subject.  I've always been fascinated by them myself."  He 
studied Bashir with fresh curiosity before he asked, "Doctor, what did _you_ 
think the 
word meant?" 
And Bashir blushed so furiously that the question was answered without another 
word. 
The tailor lowered his head and managed not to smile, but his eyes were 
twinkling with irrepressible amusement as he said, "It's an understandable 
mistake.  Phren'atkli celebrated the engendering of life and its termination 
with equal fervor.  They were as famous for their skills as courtesans as well 
as killers--sometimes both at once.  It's an art, I'm sorry to say, that has 
been lost in these modern times."  Then he added, "It is possible that, by using 
such an old-fashioned term, Dukat did intend to suggest both connotations. It 
would not be so unusual for a devoted lover to commit an act of vengeance." 
This relieved Bashir's embarrassment.  Perhaps he had not been so far wrong.  
And now that the subject had been broached between them, he could ask, "Is that 
what you want from me, Garak?" 
Garak considered him for a long moment before he answered, "That has always been 
up to you." 
He still wasn't sure what Garak was really after, but the tailor's recent 
behavior was making him reconsider his previous caution: the protective arm 
around his waist; Garak's concern for his safety, even to sitting up all night 
to keep watch over him, then coming to his rescue; the look of horror on the 
tailor's face when he realized 
that he had been injured; and, finally, that murmured endearment when Garak 
didn't think he could hear it.  What were his doubts when weighed against so 
much? 
"Until all this business with Dukat started," he ventured, "I didn't know you 
cared." 
Another long silence, and then Garak admitted, "Neither did I." 
He reached out tentatively to take the doctor's hand and, when Bashir returned 
that cautious touch with an encouraging squeeze, both men smiled. 
-*|end|*- 
Kathryn Ramage                           kramage@erols.com 
~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~*/*~~*\*~ 
"It's about Garak...I'm afraid this relationship has gotten 
a little out of hand." 
                                - Dr. Bashir, Past Prologue