Captain Julian Bashir stood with his arms crossed angrily against his chest.  The cold, unforgiving  bleakness of space stared back at him through the viewscreen.  Two years had now passed and they still had no idea where they were.  Hurtled into some uncharted region of the universe.

'God's Backside.' Father O'Brien had named it, and the title certainly fit.

 A gentle rustling in the bed beside him eased his mood a fraction, and without even asking for his touch a pair of grey hands descended on his shoulders.

"How long have you been standing here?"

"A couple of hours," Julian replied.  The grey hands began to knead the tension out of his neck and upper back.

"You do have a lot of willpower," his companion said, "but I doubt it's enough to propel us back into the Alpha Quadrant.  Come back to bed and get some sleep, your duties as Captain may be compromised if you're too exhausted to carry them out."

"I'm sick of being a Captain," Julian admitted.

"Really?  I could never tire of looking at how that uniform flatters you.  And if you surrendered your post I could no longer call out 'Oh Captain, my Captain' at the appropriate moments." The Cardassian moved his hands down Julian's sides and embraced him.  He nuzzled his face deep into the back of Julian's neck.

"This is so comfortable.  I could sleep like this."

"You're that tired?"

"Who said anything about being tired?"

"We-ell then, since we're both wide awake..."

"Captain!" an intrusive voice eagerly blurted.

<Incoming message>

 Julian sighed in frustration and glared at the ceiling.  "Computer, you are supposed to tell me about the incoming message _before_ the message is sent."

<The computer is working in the appropriate parameters.  Incoming message was relayed.  Captain Julian Bashir is advised to listen to the incoming message>

"Fine, fine," Julian muttered, "Sarcastic bitch.  Get me my uniform will you dearest?  I have a sick feeling in my stomach."

"Tom's cooking has that effect on people." Garak replied, handing him the uniform.

"Though that is true, I meant that Nog sounded anxious," Julian said.

"When doesn't Nog sound anxious?"

 Julian was hastily putting on his pants when the eager messenger's voice re-entered the room.
"Captain!  We had just dropped out of warp and you're not going to believe this but...."

 The rest of his transmission degenerated into static.  Julian rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
"Computer, repeat the message."

<Unable to comply due to an inappropriate command.  The words 'sarcastic' and 'bitch' do not fall within normal parameters.>

"I'm sorry I called you sarcastic." Julian said through gritted teeth. He pulled on his jacket and Garak smoothed out the creases and patted away imaginary particles of fluff and dust.

"Let's hope this isn't another set of neo-fascist psychotic alien paranoid schizos bent on destroying this pointless little piece of the universe." He pulled at the jacket sleeves, "How do I look?"

"Like you could take them on and destroy them without blinking once."

"Good." Julian allowed his head to swell in pride a tiny bit, "Maybe when I come back you can give me a complete physical to make sure they haven't done me harm."

"They wouldn't dare Oh Captain, my Captain," Garak replied.  Julian swooped down and administered a long, passionate kiss that left his spouse breathless.

"You should check me over anyway," Julian trilled seductively. "Doctor."

*****************

"It's what?" Captain Bashir cried out.

"It's a Federation vessel," Nog replied, barely able to keep his excitement down to epilepsy level. "A galaxy class Starship at that, and they're _hailing_ us sir!"

 Julian found the sudden appearance of the large ship unnerving. They'd had run-ins with psychokinetic aliens before, perhaps this was no more than a mass hallucination.  He braced himself.
"Open a channel.  On screen."

 An attractive human woman appeared larger than life before him.  "This is Captain Janeway of the Starship Voyager of the United Federation of Planets.  We're a long way from home and I have to say, it's quite a shock to see a familiar face."

"As it is for us Captain," Julian replied guardedly. "I am Captain Julian Bashir of the Deafiant."

"Ye-es, the Deafiant," Janeway put an uncertain finger to her lip. "I'm sorry, but I saw the specs for the ship before it was built and, well, I don't remember there being an 'a' in its name."

"You mean the 'Defiant'?" Julian frowned, "This ship is in fact its precursor.  The 'a' was added as a way to differentiate the two.  Kind of a joke, really." Like so many things in my life, he thought.

"You mean our ship is named after a typo?  Oh, that's funny."  Ensign Kira giggled into her console.  Julian flashed her an angry glance, but as with all negative energy it just bounced off of her chipper shoulder.

"So, Captain Janeway," Julian returned to the other officer, "what brought you into this neighborhood?"

"A hostile alien kidnapped us.  You?"

 Julian flashed another angry glare at Kira.  "Someone got us caught in a wormhole."  Kira smiled back at him sweetly.

"All right.  Since we're headed in the same direction why don't we meet each other and compare notes?" Janeway offered.

"Sounds like an invite I would love to accept," Julian replied.

"Good.  We'll see you soon.  And Captain Bashir?"

"Yes?"

 Janeway paused with barely hidden bliss.  "Much as I sympathize with your predicament, I'm glad we're not alone."

******************

"Father O'Brien, Counselor Weyoun, Ensign Kira and myself will rendezvous in the transporters in half an hour to visit Voyager.  They in turn are sending a Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Paris and
Commander Tuvok.  I want all of you to be as hospitable as you can -- they should be arriving here shortly and I'm confident that they are who they say they are, but just in case make sure your weapons are powered up. Any questions?"

 Nog raised his hand and waved it wildly, "Ooo, ooo, ooo, Captain Bashir?"

"Yes Nog?" he said tiredly.

"Can we take them out to lunch?  The women I mean.  Not that someone couldn't take out a man to lunch if they wanted to, but I'm specifically interested in the women..."

"Forget it Nog, they won't be interested in you."

 Nog sank into his seat a little and Julian felt sorry about his stab of cruelty.

"Well, one or two of them might have been given an alien lobotomy -- if their Captain has no problem with you inviting a willing participant to lunch..."

"Ooo, ooo, ooo, I can't wait," Nog panted.

"Is that everything?" Julian asked.  He was anxious to leave and hopefully see a few sane faces for once.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to send Weyoun on the away team?" Garak asked. "I mean, you know how...accident prone he is."

"We'll just try to keep him away from conduits and fan belts." Julian shrugged.

 Garak still didn't look convinced.  "I'm just thinking of what happened last week," he said nervously eyeing Weyoun. "I'd hate to have to wake up another replacement.  You have no idea how creepy it is knowing there's several of *him* sitting on ice in my sick bay."  Garak shivered, "It just feels completely against nature.  Not to mention the fact that he keeps coming back a little -- different -- each time."

 Weyoun looked up at Garak earnestly.  "I want you to name the next one Fred.  Weyoun is such a wussy name."

"Now, now, Weyoun, there's nothing wrong with your name," Kira patted him on the hand, "What you should be thinking is how nice it's going to be to meet some nice new people.  Maybe we could bring some muffins and cake and have a little party,"  Kira said, her words popping in the air like bubbles.

"I like the name Fred," Weyoun said aloud to himself. "And George."

"This is going to be so much fun!" Kira giggled.

 Julian gestured to his two officers and nodded at Garak.  "You're probably right, but they beat Nog and Tom Riker.  I mean, Tom is such a slob, I couldn't bear to go on Voyager with him and his mustard stained uniform,  and don't even think about mentioning Neelix -- he still hasn't discovered the joys of deodorant."

"Why can't I go, Captain?" Nog whined.

" Nog, I need your expertise here working on the Deafiant." Nog swelled with pride at this news, unaware that Bashir didn't want him along because of his tendencies to enrage every single female he was introduced to.  "Father O'Brien is coming because he is has always demonstrated what a supreme example a Starfleet officer can be.  The fact that he's a religious man doesn't hurt either.  If any problems arise, I ask you, who better to resolve them than a man of the cloth?"

 Father O'Brien nodded gravely.

"As long as he stays away from the bar, of course," Julian added.  The Father coughed.

<Computer to Bashir>

"_Captain_ Bashir computer, refer to me as _Captain_ Bashir."

<Computer to Bashir.  The officers from Voyager are in transporter room one.  Do you wish to have them vaporized?>

"Computer, what are you talking about?" Julian nearly shouted at the ceiling.

<.Bashir's panic reflex is operating under its normal parameters>

"Why you miserable, omnipotent little..."

"Temper, Julian dear, temper," Garak said to him, and he reached out and patted the Captain's arm reassuringly.

"You're right as always Elim," Julian replied warmly. "Her attitude is not worth smashing consoles over."

<Computer's attitude noted.  Attitude is within computer's compliance coding.>

"If you think so," Julian muttered.  Father O'Brien leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Maybe I should have a talk with her later.  She really is in a bad mood," he said.

"I'd appreciate it Father," Julian replied. "Now, let's go visit the neighbors, shall we?"

********************

 Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Tom Paris couldn't believe their eyes.

 There was no one to greet them.

 This was highly irregular under Starfleet protocols, usually the captain or some other senior officer would greet the guest and show them where to go.  The two men stood awkwardly on the transporter podium.

"I guess we should get down," Paris offered. Chakotay nodded.

"Just a little on the rude side, but it's understandable.  God knows how long they've been out here and their captain might not be as much of a stickler for Starfleet procedures as our captain is," he said.

 They waited, but there was still no sign of an officer to greet them.

"Maybe we could just peek out in the hall?" Paris suggested.  Chakotay nodded.

 The ship was built on Starfleet principal, the corridors turned sharply giving plenty of hiding places for playing 'space invaders'.

"What the hell is her problem, Father?" an angry voice was shouting. "She said transporter room one.  Where are they?"

"That must be the captain," Chakotay said, and prepared to come out of hiding.

"Hold on," Paris said. "Let's just see what they have to say first.  It sounds like there's some kind of crisis with one of their officers."

"I don't care if you rip her apart and have to paste her back together with silly putty, just get her to start working properly!" the angry voice continued.

"Jeez, what a slave driver," Paris grimaced.

"You're just hurting her feelings and things are going to get worse," another man with an Irish accent replied.

"I don't care about her 'feelings'.  She has a lot of tasks to perform and we can't let her incompetence destroy us.  If she doesn't smarten up you're going to have to erase her.."

"I don't like the sound of that," Chakotay said, wincing. "Something tells me these Starfleet members aren't what they seem."

"He's on a ship with his father, too.  Wouldn't that have created some conflicts of interest?" Paris said.

 Chakotay shrugged.  "Maybe he was just visiting the ship when it was lost."

"I don't know about you," Paris said, "but I wouldn't want to be caught in a claustrophobic tin can with _my_ father."

"I really like the name George..."

"Weyoun,  enough already with your obsessive name calling.  Kira, what the hell is in that package?"

"Brownies," a happy female voice replied.

"Yes, this is wonderful.  Very Starfleet, very professional.  Do you realize that is a galaxy class ship?  They care about protocols and cool, collected demeanors under stress.  All the things I am not
expressing at this moment.  Brownies are not professional, leave them here."

"No, give them to me," the Irish voice said. "Mmmm.  Very good."

"All right, that's it.  Get in the transporter room, beam over to the ship and I'll follow you momentarily.  Tell Captain Janeway I was delayed."

"Delayed by what?" the Irishman asked.

"I don't know -- running 'specs' or whatever the hell they're called.  Just tell her I'll be there as soon as I can  Now get out of here. Don't just stand there, Kira, go, Go, GO!"

 Julian sighed the breath of Atlas' burden.  "Garak, what's going on? I'm not usually this incompetent am I?"

"Of course not," his comforting voice replied. "You've been forced to work under disagreeable conditions.  However," he leaned close against Julian,  and altered the timbre in his voice to a low threat, "you have made a few mistakes."

"Such as?" Julian replied haughtily.

"You didn't finish what you started earlier this evening."

"That was Nog's fault."

"Ahh...blaming others.  No, this is your responsibility," Garak's voice descended into a menacing growl. "You will have to be punished for your errors."

"What kind of punishment?" Julian kept his voice guarded, but couldn't resist allowing a smile to sneak onto his face.

"A severe one," Garak growled, "Now, board Voyager and rattle the natives a little.  Soon, we shall rule the world."

"But I thought I already did," Bashir said quietly.  Garak leaned closer, his lips tasting the lobes of Julian's left ear.

"You rule mine," he whispered in seduction.

"If you don't stop that I'm going to be looking very unprofessional with a bulge in my pants," Julian whispered back.

"She'll just think you're glad to see her," Garak said, and quickly kissed him. "Good luck.  And remember -- Holosuite two at 1300.  If you miss it or you're late, the punishment will be twice as severe."

************************

 Garak waved at his captain as he departed through the door of transporter one.  He walked down the corridor towards transporter two, no doubt the computer's spiteful placement of their guests.  He glanced at a med PADD in his hand, wondering absently if they might need any vaccines.  A tricorder would let him know if they had come across any alien maladies that his crew would need protection from, but some of the more malicious varieties of flu couldn't be detected with it.

"A Cardassian!" a voice exclaimed, startling Garak so badly he flung the med PADD out of his hand.  It hit Paris on the forehead, knocking him unconscious.

"Ooh, I'm so sorry," he said to the tall human crouched over his lesser officer.

"Right," Chakotay said, suspicion lining the timbre of his voice.  Garak was mortified, how could he think he did this on purpose?

"It was an accident," he insisted.  He pulled out his tricorder, "I'm the ship's Doctor, we'll take him to sick bay.  He has a slight concussion and that is a nasty cut."

 Tom groaned and came to while Chakotay hauled him to his feet.  He stood unsteadily, touching the cut on his forehead.

"Lead the way," Chakotay ordered the Cardassian doctor.  They followed Garak, being sure to remain a couple of steps behind him.

"Did you hear what that Cardassian said to the Captain?  How he's going to punish him?" Paris whispered.

"I heard.  It figures, only a Cardassian would cling to their warped ideals of patriotism at their rescuer's expense."  His heart hardened at memories of Seska, "Not to worry.  We'll bide our time until 1300 hours, and then that Cardie's going to have his little interrogation cut short."

"By the way, my name is Dr. Elim Garak," the Cardassian said, flashing them a wide smile as he turned around briefly to see them. "Where's your other officer?  Turlock?"

"You mean Tuvok.  He's coming here shortly, he had a few briefings to take care of with Captain Janeway."

 I'll bet, Garak thought, bemused, "Now let me guess who's name is who's, I'm pretty good at this." He guided them through a door that opened up into a bright, spotlessly clean sick bay.  He pointed to
Chakotay, "You are Lieutenant Tom Paris, and you -" he pointed to Tom, "- are Commander Chakotay."

"No, you've gotten us reversed," Tom replied.  He sat on a biobed and the doctor immediately began running a tricorder over his wound.

<Incoming message for Dr.Garak from Bashir>

 The Cardassian groaned audibly, "I know what this is going to be about.  Excuse me gentlemen, I just have to visit another section of the sick bay, I'll be right back." Dr. Garak gracefully left them alone.

 Chakotay wandered around the room, committing its every detail to memory.  He glanced into the doctor's office and was surprised by the incongruity of two objects on the wall.  He walked closer to make sure his sight hadn't fooled him.  A doctor's license was framed simply, its documentation having both a Cardassian and Starfleet Medical seal. Beside it was what looked like a religious icon of Earth origin.  "Now this is interesting," he said aloud and Tom looked up at him, still rubbing his forehead and wincing.  Chakotay entered the doctor's office to get a magnified view of the item.  It was inlaid in gold paint,  the figure it represented shimmered against the glare of the office lights.
Chakotay squinted and read the fine black print describing the icon: "Saint Roch -- patron of doctors"

 The icon depicted a human male with a wound on his leg that was being licked by a dog.  Chakotay shook his head, a Cardassian with an interest in saints?

"There, now, that didn't take long," Dr. Garak said as he re-entered the sick bay.  He turned to his patient, "Are the two of you up for the grand tour?  Your head doesn't still hurt at all, does it?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine," Tom replied, "But we should probably wait for Tuvok."

"I don't think there's any need to, " Chakotay rebutted. "We'll take a tour now, lead the way.  Maybe we could even stop by your holosuite.  I heard the Defiant's were rather good for their strategy programs."

 The Cardassian hesitated.  "Actually, ours are a little in disrepair. Our engineers are working on it and they should be running properly by tomorrow." He opened the sick bay door and led them back out into the corridor.  "We'll start at the mess hall, although with Tom Riker's cooking you'll probably wish we hadn't."

*******************

 Captain Janeway rubbed her shoulder which was now aching.  Ensign Kira shook her hand so eagerly she thought the Bajoran would rip her arm off.

"This is going to be such a wonderful friendship," Kira had gushed. "To think we're not the only losers to get lost in the universe..."

 Janeway bristled a little, and Father O'Brien immediately stepped forward.  "They didn't get lost Ensign, they were put here by a hostile alien.  You were the one who decided to take a short cut through a worm hole."

 Kira merely giggled and leaned to whisper to Janeway, "Oh, they blame me for everything, but that's ok.  They forgive me."

 The hot angry glare that Father O'Brien was giving her, however, made Janeway wonder if that in fact was true.

 The transporter room flickered in an eerie light, and another figure materialized on its podium.
"Captain Janeway," the slim young man said, his manner elegant and poised.

"Captain Bashir," Janeway nodded. "Welcome aboard Voyager."

"I see you've met Father O'Brien and Ensign Kira." Julian frowned. "Where's Weyoun?"

 He looked behind him to see a little pile of black ashes neatly arranged on one of the pads.

"Damn, of all the times to have an accident," he groaned.  "Bashir to Dr. Garak," he said as he tapped his com badge.

"Dr. Garak here."

"I'm afraid you have to wake up a Weyoun."

"I warned you, didn't I?" the voice admonished. "That's the third one this week!"

"Just do it Garak." Julian hissed, "Weyoun will be here shortly." he replied to Janeway.

 Ten minutes later the transporter beam sprung into life and a tall figure stood on top of the pile of ashes.

"Introduce yourself to Captain Janeway, Weyoun."

 The Vorta merely shuffled forward into the light and Janeway and Seven gasped.  He was tall and thin, very pale, with a set of delicate cartilage ornamenting his ears.  He had ice blue eyes ringed with dark circles and his mouth was a pale white line.  He looked like a giant, dead elf.

"Counselor Weyoun," he muttered, "but I've always really liked the name Wesley."

 Captain Bashir pulled Janeway aside, "You'll have to excuse him," he explained. "He's a little..." Julian tapped his brow with his forefinger. "Addicted to Bergman too."

 Seven's Borg enhanced hearing caught his whispered confidence, "An addiction to bourbon is considered alcoholism and is treatable by medical intervention," she said sharply.

"Not bourbon, " Julian said to her, annoyed. "Bergman.  Ingmar Bergman. He's seen "The Seventh Seal" four hundred and twenty times."

"Four hundred and twenty one," the Vorta corrected.

"I never could get into Bergman," Father O'Brien said, mostly to himself. "I don't get the nihilistic symbolism."

"I always liked that scene where they were skipping and happily dancing on the hill..." Kira began.

"Nobody is 'happy' in a Bergman film, Kira!" Julian snapped.  He took a deep breath to calm his agitating nerves that were getting more and more agitated because Janeway was looking at him like he was nuts.

 Julian sighed and put a hand on Weyoun's shoulder, "I guess I can't blame him, last week he was sucked into a fan belt, fried by a conduit and," he gestured to the transporter pad, "suffered a transporter accident."

"The very first one was eaten by the Trutrolls," Father O'Brien said, remembering. "Now that's one planet I won't go to a Bar-B-Q on ever again.  I can't remember what happened to Weyoun number two."

"Captain Bashir sold him to that brothel so we could purchase dilithium fuel crystals," Kira piped happily.

 Julian laughed, "My, my, Kira what a sense of humor..."

"But you did..."

"Very funny," Julian said through a strained smile. "Now shut up."

 Janeway stared at the unorthodox Captain Bashir with more than a little shock.  "Why don't we just take a little tour," she said carefully.  She and Seven of Nine walked ahead of their strange guests and exchanged bewildered glances.

***************

 Two hours into their tour, Julian thought he was going to go mental from boredom.  Sure, it was a galaxy class ship, complete with the most up to date equipment and weapons and quality replicators but it didn't have the same _feel_ as his ship.  Halfway through the tour, he realized what was missing.  There were no personal conflicts.  No one shouting at each other, no one trying to break someone's neck, no one screaming swear words in hysteria.

 It was like living in an antiseptic cotton ball.

 Julian shivered at the thought of living his life so sterilized.

"What do you think?" Father O'Brien said to him, nodding at Seven.

"Of what?" Julian asked.

"She's Borg, right?  That's what she said.  So you tell me," he gestured to her. "Are they real or implants?"

"I don't know," Julian frowned. "All I do know is that nobody will ever get to find out."

 Father O'Brien snorted in agreement.  "This place makes a convent look like a whorehouse." he said.

 Julian glanced at his watch; it was nearly 1300.  Time to make the great escape.

"Tell her I had some pressing business back at the Deafiant," he said to Father O'Brien, "running specs, or something."

**********************

"Tuvok!"

 The Vulcan casually strode towards Chakotay and Paris, who were heading back on their own to the transporter room.  The Cardassian doctor had to treat several people in the mess hall for food poisoning and Voyager's two officers eased themselves away, unnoticed.

  "There was no one to greet me in the transporter room," Tuvok said mechanically.

"They seem to be a little lax on protocols," Chakotay explained, "but that's the least of their worries."

"We overheard a Cardassian threatening this ship's Captain with torture.  We have reason to believe he's being held captive," Paris said quickly.

"For all we know, this place could be crawling with Cardies," Chakotay said bitterly.  He explained what he had overheard earlier to Tuvok.

 Tuvok considered the information.  "It is nearly 1300 now.  Captain Bashir is going to be late."

"And we know what that's going to mean," Paris shook his head anxiously. "We're going to have to rescue him."

"I will return to Voyager and inform the Captain of the situation," Tuvok said, and abruptly returned to the transporter room.

"There you are," a familiar voice purred behind them. "I'm sorry I got held up in the mess hall, Tom doesn't seem to understand that fish left unfrozen on a counter for two days can get a little gamey."   He checked his watch nervously and eyed the transporter room.

"Has anyone come back?" he asked.

 Chakotay was about to answer when the door of the transporter room opened and Captain Bashir approached him.

"Hello, you must be Chakotay and Paris," attaching the wrong names to the wrong faces. "I'm Captain Bashir." He held out his hand and shook theirs in turn confidently.  "I saw someone beaming out as I was beaming in, that must have been Tuvok."

"Yes, we met with him briefly," Chakotay said.

"Tuvok?  That's Vulcan isn't it?" Julian asked.

"Yes."

"A Vulcan?" Garak's eyes opened wide with surprise only to shrink in the spirit of disappointment. "What a shame he returned to his ship, I would have loved to meet a Vulcan. "

"Don't worry, there's an awful lot of them on Voyager," Julian said to him sardonically. "Well, it was nice meeting both of you, hope to do it again sometime, why don't we get together for lunch -- I'll call you. Transporter room two is ready for you through that door." He gestured in its direction absently and  disappeared down the corridor with the Cardassian beside him.

********************

 Captain Janeway was more than a little bristled by Captain Bashir's sudden departure, she was downright angry.  Sneaking away from one's duties was hardly a description one usually put to a Starfleet Captain, and for some inexplicable reason she felt that her own status had been tarnished by his carelessness.  At the very least, he could have thought of a better excuse than 'running specs', whatever that meant.

 Granted, she mused as she looked over the corpselike elf named Weyoun, maybe I'm just angry that he left me with these...examples...of his crew.

 They had ended up in the mess hall, and the priest -- Father O'Brien -- had immediately planted himself at the bar.  He was clearly annoyed when he was told there was no alcohol and he went into a heated tirade on the cruelty of a cook who couldn't quench the thirst of his patrons.  The arrival of the Doctor in his Fair Haven clergy attire had him mistakenly thinking there was a comrade aboard.  Unfortunately for the Doctor, Father O'Brien was more than a little miffed over the idea of someone
impersonating a 'man of the cloth'.

 The argument was resolved, however, when the Doctor informed the priest of the Fair Haven holosuite program -- an Ireland free of foggy, dark moors but instead filled with  sunshine, warmth and completely free beer.  All was quickly forgiven and the pair traveled to the holosuite together.

 Janeway was now left to contend with Little Miss Happiness and the Creature Named Weyoun Who Really Wanted to be Named Wesley.  B'Elanna was sitting in her usual seat and Ensign Kira was happily chatting away to her.

"Excuse me," B'Elanna said, and approached the Captain on the other side of the room.  "Get her away from me," she said through a clenched mouth.

"What's wrong?" Janeway asked, poorly feigning innocence.

"If she giggles one more time I'm going to give her a tracheotomy with a butter knife."

"Now, now, B'Elanna, they are our guests," Janeway gave a sidelong glance to the oppressively silent Weyoun. "Who I'm sure will have to go back to their ship soon."

"No," Weyoun said lowly, "Captain Bashir said we are to stay here for the rest of the afternoon unless you tell us to leave."

 Leave, leave, Captain Janeway wanted to shout, but alas it was against protocol to oust a fellow officer from one's ship for simply being annoying. Clever man, that Bashir, leaving her to babysit his lunatics.

 Janeway felt a gut wrenching pang of sympathy for Captain Bashir.  If these people were the best his crew had to offer, she hated to think of the kind of trials he had to go through every day.  It would be enough to drive any Captain mad.

"Tell me, Counselor," she said to Weyoun. "How well do you think your Captain is adjusting to life here in the Delta Quadrant?  He must be under an awful lot of pressure, I myself know how hard it can be.  But your ship is hardly a galaxy class starship, and the limited space you have must cause an awful lot of problems."

 Weyoun merely shrugged.

 Ensign Kira giggled and Janeway could feel B'Elanna's blood pressure heat the room.

"Do you think he's having any emotional problems at all?  How are his relationships with others?" She asked, hoping to dig out something of what made the unorthodox Captain Bashir tick.

"No, Captain Bashir and Doctor Garak have no problems in their relationship, " Weyoun said. "They are very happy together.  Pity one of them will probably get captured and tortured to death by a hostile alien, leaving the survivor to go insane with anguish, but what can you do?" Weyoun turned to Neelix, "Do you have any tea?"

 Neelix turned around to serve the Counselor.

"Neelix," the Counselor said, "What are you doing here?  Aren't you supposed to be in engineering?"

"How did you know my name?" the speckled man asked, astonished. "I don't know anything about engineering -- did they want me to ship down some food?"

"Is there something wrong Counselor Weyoun?" Janeway asked.

"We've got a Neelix just like this one.  Only he's an engineer, and he's been an engineer on the Deafiant for two years." Weyoun sniffed the air, "And this one smells better."

 Janeway struggled briefly with this bizarre information when her powers of deduction were interrupted by the hurried entrance of Tuvok.

"Captain," he said sharply, "There may be a problem with the Captain of the Deafiant." He glanced at Weyoun and pulled Janeway aside, "We have reason to believe that he is being held captive by a Cardassian. Chakotay and Paris are in the process of a rescue mission." He paused for effect, "They believe the Cardassian known as Dr. Garak is going to torture him."

"Of course he is," Weyoun piped, he'd heard every word after all. "They always play that game when the Captain's under a lot of stress."

 Janeway blinked.  "A...game?  Involving torture?"

"Not real torture," Weyoun explained. "_Pretend_  torture."

"Why would anyone pretend to be tortured?" Tuvok asked. "The concept of pretending pain is illogical."

 He looked to his Captain for confirmation of this ludicrous explanation, but Janeway was stricken with an unhealthy pallor.

"Tuvok," she said quietly, "Did you say that Tom and Chakotay were going to 'rescue' Captain Bashir?"

"Yes."

 She buried her weary head in her hands.  "Oooh, nooo," she moaned.

************************

 Captain Julian Bashir of the Deafiant was tied with silken black ropes to a comfortable chair.  The only article of clothing he was wearing were his starfleet uniform pants, and he was anticipating eagerly for them to be removed as well.  Garak was still in his starfleet medical uniform.

"I hope your wearing that little silver outfit under that," Julian said, with a wicked glint in his eye. "It is my favorite."

"Maybe," Garak teased, then crouched low to be at eye level with his Captain.  He tilted Julian's chin with a long grey finger, "It depends on the information you provide."

"I'm not telling you anything," Julian replied in mock anger. Garak traced his finger along Julian's neck and down the center of his chest, stopping at the belt buckle of his pants.

"Oh, yes you will, if you want a reward," Garak purred.  He stood up, and began peeling the uniform off of his body.  He stepped out of it completely, revealing himself in the fated silver thong that did little to conceal his own excitement.  His legs were encased in thigh high silver stockings to match.

 Julian felt his breath quicken.

"I thought you said I wasn't to get a reward until you got what you wanted," he said huskily.

"Now, Captain," Garak said, seductively lounging onto Julian's lap, "you know as well as I do that I *always* get what I want because it's also what *you* want."

 Julian swallowed, his mouth suddenly parched.  He wanted to grab Garak and take him on the floor, but the restraints held him back.

"What do I want Garak?" Julian asked, his voice a carnal growl.

 The Cardassian rose from Julian's lap and with a serpent's grace slid to the floor beside him, never breaking eye contact.  His eyes flitted briefly to the buckle on Julian's pants before returning to lock with the hazel depths.

"First you have to tell me what I want to hear." Garak said, looking up at his Captain from his position on the floor, "Tell me you'll let me paint our quarters that blue color you didn't like."

"No problem." Julian replied. "You can paint our quarters that disgusting teal blue."

"Tell me," Garak stroked a teasing hand up Captain Bashir's thigh, "that you'll watch 'Sleepless in Seattle' with me tonight."

 Julian shook his head and Garak withdrew his hand.

"All right, all right.  We'll watch that sappy piece of crap if you insist." Julian replied.  Garak placed both his palms onto Bashir's thighs and began to gently explore their circumference with his long
fingers.  He gazed fervently into Julian's eyes, his ice blue stare hypnotizing in its sensuality.

"Tell me I'm beautiful." Garak whispered, his eyes dancing like crystalline fires.  Julian felt his heart beating so fast it felt like he would go into cardiac arrest.

"Elim," Julian said softly. "I don't need to be tortured to tell you that."

*******************

 Nearly an hour into the 'torture' session, Chakotay and Paris decided to finally make their move.  They had been unable to contact their ship due to a block that was placed on the ship's communication system.

"The fact that the computer won't let us get a message through bothers me," Chakotay admitted. "There could be a roomful of Cardies in that holosuite and we don't have any backup."

"We'll have to use some of your Maquis expertise," Paris said. "I guess you never thought you'd be stalking Cardassians again, huh?"

"No," Chakotay said, "but I'm always prepared."

 Tom stopped beside a double door.  "This is the holosuite." he whispered.  They both pressed their respective ears against the door.  A low, sobbing moan emanated from the metal.

"Let's hope it's not too late,"  Chakotay said. "On my mark.  One, two, three..."

 The two Starfleet Officers leaped into the holosuite, their phasers at the ready and set to kill.

"Holy shit!" Paris said, and dropped his weapon.

"That's...oh, boy, that's...not what I was expecting..." Chakotay stammered through a grimace.  He shielded his eyes.  "Sorry," he shouted as he and Tom Paris scrambled to get out of the holosuite.

 The doors closed behind them, the sound of Captain Bashir's livid, enraged voice shouting expletives that threatened to shatter the metal barrier like broken glass.

"Well, it wasn't a roomful of Cardies." Tom said.

"No," Chakotay replied, the image of the scantily clad Cardassian between Captain Bashir's legs still too fresh in his mind. "It was a lot worse."

*************************

 Captain Janeway was fighting for traditional composure, a difficult feat when confronted by the infuriated Captain Bashir.  He's definitely a passionate man, she mused, watching the veins in his neck pop up and down underneath his skin.

"It doesn't matter about me," he explained hotly. "It's Elim I care about.  Do you have any idea how much Cardassians value their modesty? Poor Elim is so distraught he's locked himself in our quarters and he won't even talk to Father O'Brien."

"Forgive me, Captain Bashir,"  Janeway interrupted, "But Cardassians are hardly known for their fragility.  My officers had every reason to believe you were genuinely being tortured, given the history of Dr. Garak's race..."

"History?" Julian exclaimed, "Of what?  You can't possibly mean torture?"

"Of course I do." Janeway replied.

 Julian looked at her as if she were completely insane.  "Cardassians do not torture people," he said evenly, as if talking to small child, "they're pacifists."

 Janeway stifled an incredulous chortle, "Well, you've certainly been misinformed," she said.

"I don't think so," Julian said, "I lived on Cardassia with Garak for five years when I was ranked as a Commander, I saw no evidence of what you are suggesting.  The next time you run into a psychotic example of someone's race, try not to judge a planet for their wrongs.."

"I don't understand," Janeway said, "How could you have lived on Cardassia and remained a Starfleet Commander?"

"The Outpost Four," Julian said -- was this woman completely dense? -- "St. Roch's  Starfleet/Cardassia Medical Academy.  It's where Elim got his training."

"What are you talking about?" Janeway asked, confused, "There is no combined Starfleet/Cardassian anything.  And why is it named after a saint?"

 Julian was becoming increasingly nervous in Janeway's presence, she was clearly out of her mind.  "It's named after the patron saint of doctors," he said slowly.

 Janeway still shook her head, "No, that doesn't explain it."

"It's named after a saint because ninety percent of Cardassians are Catholic." Julian explained, "Everybody knows that.  Ever since the missionaries showed up during the Big Famine over a hundred and fifty years ago." Julian replied hotly, "Have you been out here so long that you're forgetting your own culture's history?"

 Janeway sat down, assimilating this new information.  "Tell me about this Starfleet/Cardassian alliance," she said carefully, "How did it all start?  I think I need a refresher course."

 Julian eyed her strangely; it was clear she didn't believe him.  Some alien must have erased sections of her memory,  he thought.

"As you know, Earth perfected space travel about two hundred years ago," he began, "And since then we have always been on the lookout for new signs of life.  About a hundred and fifty years ago we heard reports of a richly cultured society on the brink of ruin due to a sudden depletion of natural resources.  Though the need for aid was obvious, Cardassia's neighbors were dragging their bureaucratic feet and in the meantime millions were starving to death.

 "When Starfleet heard of the famine they didn't want to remain uninvolved when they could ease these people's sufferings, but at the same time they were poorly equipped to handle the rescue of millions and, frankly, lacked the expertise needed for what would be a charity mission.  So, they turned to the experts, a small group of missionaries, who traveled to the far reaches of the known galaxy to a little dusty planet called Cardassia. Within five months they had installed a planetary irrigation system that borrowed water from the polar caps of a nearby moon.

  "Needless to say, they became known as the 'Saviors of Cardassia', and the population gradually became converted to Catholicism in their name. The three clerics who headed the rescue mission to Cardassia were canonized as saints eighty years ago, and at least four thousand churches, schools and hospitals were built in their honor."  Julian paused reflectively, "If they hadn't of shown up and given them the immediate aid they needed, God knows what might have happened to the Cardassian people."

 A light suddenly beaconed into Captain Janeway's understanding, and suddenly all the pieces that wouldn't fit transformed themselves into an entire picture.

"I'm afraid we do know what happened," she replied, her smugness vanquished.

*************************

 Captain Julian Bashir marched into Voyager's mess hall a seething human mass of rage.  Officers parted quickly to let the man through, and he walked straight up to Ensign Kira and pointed a shaking finger at her.

"You!" he shouted.

 Kira smiled back at him sweetly, completely unperturbed by the psychotic twitches shutting her Captain's left eye.

"Yes, Captain?" she said with a giggle.

"It wasn't enough, was it, to get us caught in a wormhole?" he said, his voice shaking with fury, "It wasn't enough to fling us out in the middle of the vastness in the Delta Quadrant where it would take two generations to get home.  Oh, no, that wasn't enough.  You had to make sure we not only got as far away from home as possible, but that we ended up in the _wrong universe_ as well!"

"The wrong universe?" Kira's eyes were wide with wonder, "Gee, that's really something."

 Without warning, Captain Bashir reached out and grasped Kira's neck with his hands, ready to squeeze.

"I'm...going...to...kill...you..." he groaned, straining through the tight grip he had on her throat.

 Captain Janeway ran into the mess hall.  "Don't let him kill her! B'Elanna, stop him!"

 B'Elanna, who was seated across from Ensign Kira and had spent the better part of her day listening to her inane chatter, felt a conflict stirring within her.  One part wanted to listen to her Captain and the other section was enjoying watching the little Bajoran moron getting the life choked out of her -- she'd been wanting to do that herself all afternoon.  She caught Janeway's alarmed eye and sighed.  She got up from her seat and pulled Bashir off of the redhead.

 Ensign Kira struggled regaining her breath for a few moments, but to B'Elanna and Bashir's chagrin she recovered quickly.

"Gee, you seem kind of angry," she said. "Why don't we try channeling all of this negative energy out into space?  You know, it really does work."  She smiled, "Come on everybody, let's all gather in a group hug."

"Let's not," Janeway said, diffusing the murderous glances B'Elanna was hurtling her way.

"Go back to the ship," Bashir spat at Kira.  Weyoun was about to interject, "You too, you Hades leftover.  Get back on the Deafiant!"  Julian straightened out his rumpled uniform and smoothed back
his hair, "And tell Dr. Garak to get over here!" he shouted at them as they hurried to leave.

*******************

 Captain Janeway couldn't help but feel sorry for the blue clad figure before her.  He was doing his best to be polite and calm but his hands were shaking as he rubbed them together in a nervous gesture.  Perhaps it was more cruel than kind to force Chakotay and Paris to apologize to Dr. Garak, yet she knew no other way to help diffuse the situation.

 Chakotay cleared his throat, "I, and Lieutenant Tom Paris, are very, very sorry about what happened earlier today.  We should have gotten more facts together instead of surmising that you were a Cardassian torturer -- which of course, you are not."

 Tom found he couldn't look at Dr. Garak without feeling deep hollows of regret, "I'm really sorry," he said. "I thought you were one of *our* Cardassians."

"I understand," Dr. Garak replied quietly. "I hear that my people in this universe aren't exactly the epitome of piety."  He bent his head and studied his hands in a gesture of remorse, "It's horrible, some of the things they've done.." he began, and ended in swallowed tears.

"You can't judge an entire race because of a few lunatics," Janeway said to him softly. "I'm sure there are good Cardassians in our universe too.  Your counterparts had a much harder road to travel than
yours -- no one cared when they were starving, and in order to survive that neglect they had to make themselves a lot harder of heart.  If anything, I hope you forgive *us*."

 Elim smiled sadly.  "Captain Janeway," he said, "it is in my nature to forgive.  Those who let my people starve are now long dead and have to answer to their own souls for what they did, as do those who are perpetuating this 'hardness of heart' you speak of in my own people. Harsh lessons only breed even harsher answers,"  Elim sighed.  "And from the direction things seem to be going in their war I can only hope for God's mercy and not His wrath."

 Janeway reached over and clasped her hand in his reassuringly.  "Amen to that," she said.

 Captain Bashir, who had remained silent and stoic up to this point, rose from his seat and stood behind Dr. Garak.  He reached out with his hand and stroked Garak's silken hair with affection.

"We should probably be getting back,' he said. "I don't like leaving my ship alone with my crew for long periods of time."

"I understand completely, believe you me," she replied.  Chakotay and Paris gave each other surprised glances.

"Captain, are you suggesting that we're as incompetent as the Deaf..."

"I don't believe I've asked for your input Tom," she interrupted Paris, and his mouth fell silent.  She turned back to Captain Bashir and handed him a PADD.  "This has all the hostile aliens we've encountered since we've been here.  You might want to study this and compare it with any you've run into yourself and to be prepared in case a few of them decide to come looking for us."

 Captain Bashir frowned over the pages and pages of data the PADD displayed before him.
"Uh, thank you," he said. "We'll follow behind you and keep an open dialogue link."

********************

 He walked over to the replicator.  "Coffee," he said to it.

<The computer does not understand Bashir's request for coffee.  Please rephrase the request>

 Julian sighed.  "Computer, what have I done to deserve this resentment?" he asked. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry, ok?"

<Computer has been requiring maintenance for the past month. Maintenance is expected protocol for the computer to function within normal parameters.>

"So what you're saying," Julian replied. "Is that you want some attention and you're tired of being neglected."

<Captain Bashir fully understands the computer's request for maintenance>

"Fine, I'll get Neelix to work on you," he answered.

<Engineer Neelix is not qualified for the specifics of computer maintenance.  Tom Riker is a significantly more experienced engineer and qualifies to bring the computer back to its normal parameters>

"So," Julian smiled. "You've got a crush on Tom." He gave the ceiling a knowing look, "I understand, I wouldn't want Neelix touching my personal maintenance arrays either."

 He pointed to the replicator.  "Coffee?" he asked.

 A hot, bubbling cappuccino with steamed milk and cinnamon sprinkles appeared within it. "I guess this means I'm forgiven," he said to the omnipotent presence, and he took a tentative sip and smiled.  A very good brew.

 Captain Julian Bashir of the Deafiant walked onto the bridge and settled himself comfortably into his chair, balancing his cappuccino carefully so as not to spill its contents.

"We are to follow behind Voyager from now on," he told his crew.  He glanced at the data PADD that Janeway had given him, "Only make sure you keep us at a healthy distance."

 He frowned at the copious pile of information on the PADD.

"They seem to have a knack for pissing people off."

END