"I must maintain"
                     --Hunter S. Thompson, 'Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas'

"Full cavity searches.  Hard and deep."
                      --Robert Stack, in 'Beavis and Butthead Do America'
 
 
 

 He stretched into the dawn of another sickeningly hot morning, his face unshaven, his clothes still clinging to the sour smell of vomit and sweat that permeated this place.  He walked out of his tiny room, down the hallway, the sounds of screaming and cursing assailing his ears.  A gaunt, red-eyed Bajoran stood clinging against the wall, and he knew better than to disturb his silent, waking nightmare.  It was usually best to let it go its course. 

 He arrived in the lunchroom, the smell of sterilized metal trays and the synthetic, bland food congealed into a scent reminiscent of stale soap.  At all the tables, emaciated, shivering Bajorans and Cardassians, a human here and there wandering the halls. One in the far corner was babbling to himself.  Not for the first time, he wondered where all of this was going to get them, if there really was any hope.  He held out his duty roster before him and shouted the usual refrain.

"Okay, everyone, remember.  One o'clock, we'll be on the outside track for volleyball.  Everyone know what team they're on?"

 Some of the crowd nodded wanly, while the rest simply ignored him.

"Great," Tom Riker replied, "I'll see you then."

                                                                         ***

 Staggering off the platform, Enabran Tain leaned into his Jem' Hadar companion for some mutual support.  Only the former soldier wasn't faring much better.  He was currently running on mescalin and asid, not the best combination for anyone, and by the look of things, he was spiraling into his own little mad universe filled with malevolent Founders and tiny, sharp toothed Vortas.

"You just got to keep a lid on the spirit of the thing, man," Enabran was saying to him , "seeing giant piles of deified goo, giving you the benefit of their holy squishy ass, not to mention their little agents of provocation lurking and biting the hell out of your big toe, as you say.  No, I got nothing but those damn cockroaches in my path--goddamn universe is just full of them." 

 He trod on one bearing a suitcase, and the poor creature lay sprawled and bleeding on the floor next to his shoe.  The blood actually seemed to pulse and undulate as if alive itself.  Enabran decided to tread more carefully, no point in adding an unnecessary murder charge, especially in this strange unnatural place.

 Staring through the complications of a drug induced clarity, Enabran tried to get a bearing on exactly where he was today.  The walls seemed to be a squirming mass of dark ridged worms, and the floors were like the hives of bees.

"Ah," he said in understanding to himself, "I'm on Outpost 9."

 Vaguely he remembered something about his son working as a doctor here, and he wondered if maybe ending up on this metal pile of junk was a wise thing to do.  Elim might give him some extra cash to get rid of him, or he might do something truly abominable and ship him off to another one of those 'drug rehabilitation' places.  Enabran couldn't help but laugh, that last one was the most ridiculous yet.

"Labor camp," he chuckled to himself. 

 Apparently he had spent nearly three years there, but the entire experience had degenerated into a blur.  The drugs at that particular facility were woefully inadequate, and he had to secure some interesting combinations to get the proper dosages.  And when his dear Jem' Hadar friend came along with his tame, innocuous White, well...Enabran had to give a fellow junkie a better deal.  The result had been freedom.  Somehow.   The details were never very clear, he vaguely remembered a giant squid, but that probably had little to do with it.

 He laughed aloud and patted his Jem' Hadar  friend playfully on the back, sending the soldier into a panic attack that resulted in the severe damage of a couple of bulkheads.

"You've got to walk right through this," Enabran insisted, "you remember, you've left the wheeling machinations of the truly mad world behind.  You're in genuine madness now, be proud of your awakened demons, embrace their slimy, mucused skins and pour them into your mind."

 The Jem' Hadar soldier was shrieking wildly now, clutching his head and muttering something about the Founders eating his brain. 

"I'll have none of it," Enabran was saying as he shook his head, "there's no need to go making those kinds of judgements on my spirit.   I got harpies in my backyard that have more sincerity of soul than your gooey deities!"

 Leaning against a squirming wall, Enabran studied the moving floor.  Vaguely, in the background, he could hear his companion spilling whatever he had eaten last week onto the metal surface.

"Halt!" A commanding voice beckoned, and Enabran froze where he stood.   Looking up he could see the forms of three giant rats wearing Starfleet uniforms blocking his path.  He could hear the deafening clang of cuffs being closed on the wrists of his now barely conscious friend.

"Hey, leave the predator alone you spiritual vermin!" Enabran shouted, "How long does our consciousness have to suffer under the torments of your painless, emaciated visions of your grandiose pomposity?"

 In a swift lunge, one of the rats made a grab for him, but Enabran was by now used to this sort of pursuit.  He dived out of the way, sending the rat sprawling to the ground as he grasped at air. Enabran ran down a flurry of corridors, and then dived into an opening in the wall.  Within the living, breathing mess of the jeffries tube, he managed to elude his captors.

 Or so he thought.

"Hey," an Irish accented piece of cheese exclaimed, "what the hell are you doing here?"

      ***

"I'm going with or without your permission, sir," she stated with finality.

 Sisko sighed and felt himself giving in to Colonel Kira's request.  Once again, he noted to himself how much her determination was a source of secret inspiration for him.  She was strong willed and stubborn, two factors of her personality that Benjamin Sisko himself had an awful lot in common with, he knew.

"You can take one runabout," he said, "but I won't let you go it alone.  O'Brien has to accompany you."

"Sir.." She began to protest.

"No," Sisko insisted.  "This is a very dangerous mission you've decided to embark on Colonel, and I can't in all conscience let you do it alone.  O'Brien has the best expertise in the use of our Romulan friends' cloaking devices, and he'll get you in and out of there in the quickest possible time."

 Kira sighed at this, impatient at her Captain's insistence. "Sir, the fewer people who embark on this mission, the better.  I don't want anyone detecting us." 

 She swallowed back on her fierce pride for a tiny moment, "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to have O'Brien along."

 Sisko nodded, "You can go first thing in the morning, Colonel.  I'll leave it to you to inform the Chief."

 She gave a curt nod to Sisko in reply and walked briskly out of his office.  Sisko stared at the baseball on his desk and then picked it up, tossing it with one hand and catching it as it fell.  The risk of dropping it increased as he tossed the ball higher and higher, catching it with his one outstretched hand.  In one sudden impulse, he misjudged its descent, and the ball went thudding to the floor.

 He grimaced as he picked it up and settled it back onto its perch, thinking broodingly of Tom Riker in that Cardassian work camp and Kira and O'Brien's impending rescue mission.  He could only hope it would be a success.

      ***
"Hold still, damn you!" 

 Chief O'Brien dragged the sputtering elderly Cardassian into sickbay, the old man surprisingly strong. 

"Julian!" O'Brien shouted into the sickbay as they entered.  "Give me a hand, willya, he's losing his mind."

"How wrong you are," Enabran said, shaking his head, "that's already been lost. Along with the soul and the consciousness.  You should try living in the nightmare sometime.  It'll give you a new view on the pointlessness of this exercise. Or of the very floor I'm walking on." His dilated eyes quickly viewed the sickbay.

"Where's my lawyer?" Enabran asked.

"Who?"

"The Goddamn gun-toting sonofabitch who puked in your hallway.  My fucking _lawyer_, who else?  Where is he?" Enabran straightened up a little. "By the way, my son happens to be a doctor here, so if you could just point me the way to his office, I'll go and quietly wait for him." 

 Inwardly, Enabran smiled at his plan.  No doubt Elim would have a little bit of latinum stashed away in the desk drawer; he was always so careless with money.  And he knew exactly where his dear child kept the medicine cabinet keys.  He could be well supplied for months before Elim realized that the meds were gone.
 Just then, Julian entered the room and Enabran's hopes were crushed.  Just his luck, the wonderful, parasitic spouse would have a say in his release, and no doubt the words would be choice ones.  Enabran waited for the flurry of insults; Julian had at least three years to build up a good supply.

"My god, "Julian exclaimed as he beheld Tain, "I thought you were dead!"

 Enabran rolled his eyes at this, "I was, twice, remember?  The Christmas four years ago...The wedding..." Hmmm, Enabran thought, better keep quiet about the wedding, it hadn't been his best fatherly moment.  That cake incident...Enabran stifled a grimace.

"You know this man?" O'Brien asked him, and Julian nodded fervently.

"This is Enabran Tain, the leader of the Obsidian Order," Julian explained.

 O'Brien looked at the disheveled, muttering Cardassian.  His shirt was some odd cotton fabric that had some sort of tropical oasis printed on it.  The palm trees hid stains, and a couple of coconuts were in fact dried puke. 

"Are you sure?" O'Brien asked, unconvinced.

"We spent a month in a Dominion prison together. If I'm not sure he's Enabran Tain then I'm not Dr. Julian Bashir."

 O'Brien sent Julian a sideways glance, and Julian felt a little foolish. 

"Well, that might not be the best way of saying it," he said to O'Brien, remembering how he'd been replaced by a Founder.

 O'Brien led Enabran to a biobed and forced him to have a seat.  "He seems to be under the influence of some sort of drug," O'Brien said, "he's been really delusional, and the Jem' Hadar soldier he came here with wasn't in much better shape."

"Yes," Julian agreed, "he was coming off of some sort of mescaline derivative.  The Founders may be experimenting with some new formulas.  I'll be sure to make a note of it."  He turned to Enabran with the blood scanner, "Now, let's see what they've got you running on." 

 He took a small sample of blood and inserted it into the reader.  Instantly, the screen was filled and was scrolling repeatedly, listing the various narcotics swimming through Enabran's very crowded bloodstream.

"What the..." Julian stammered.  "I've never seen so many chemicals swirling around in one person.  Dear God, man, why aren't you dead?"

 Enabran shrugged, bored.  He was so tired of this response.  Once a year after Elim forced him into yet another rehab center, he'd have a huge bender before getting admitted.  Granted, sometimes the bender itself lasted the year...

 Julian was shaking his head, "There's so many derivatives in your body I can't isolate them," he said, "and not only that, there seems to be a chemical make-up that has the potential to become a life form."

"Oh, so that would explain this?" Enabran said, actually interested.  He rolled up his sleeve to show Julian his small blue/black mole.  It puckered its mouth at him when Julian inspected it.

"I feel sick," Julian said simply, staring at it, "how could the Founders have done this?"

"Done what?" Enabran asked.

"Force fed you all those drugs," Julian was still shaking his head.

 Enabran began laughing.  "Are you kidding?  Those 'Founders' as you call them wouldn't know a half decent kick if it bit them in the ass." He pointed to the Jem'Hadar soldier on the adjacent biobed, who had been brought in earlier.  The creature lay moaning tortuously on the bed's surface. "If it weren't for me, my lawyer here would still be wallowing the pointless sterilized highs of his benefactors.  I'm the one who opened him up to some _real_ horizons."  Enabran puffed with pride a little at this.

"There is no way," Julian replied, "that you would have taken this amount of drugs willingly.  Your pride is clouding your judgement, and this kind of denial will only harm you."

"Denial?" Enabran said to him, incredulous, "I just told you I took them.  I happen to be a very honest junkie, you know that." 

 He looked at Julian again as if seeing him for the first time.

"How come you're the one doing the examination?" he asked, then looking around the room, "Where's my little Elim?  I've a thing or two to say to him about that last rehab center he shoved me into--at _your_ bidding of course, you little overgrown parasite.  And don't bother trying to force me back there, I burnt the damn place down. There's nothing left but broken limbs and writhing tentacles."  He stood up somewhat unevenly from the biobed, "And tell him I'm not going back to that other place either.  Goddamn Tom Riker and his volleyball therapy..." 

"Volleyball?" O'Brien asked.

"Seven times a day, the man's a freak," Enabran continued, picking the globs of unknown dried substances off of his tropical shirt.  "You'd think my son, being a doctor, would realize how pointless that kind of repetition is."

 The facts of Enabran Tain's rambling began piecing themselves together in Julian's mind. 

  Elim...Doctor...Rehab...

"You're Dr. Garak's father!" Julian exclaimed.

 Enabran looked at him like he had completely gone mad.  "Oh, you figured that out have you?  I guess all those courtroom battles over where to put 'Elim's genetic garbage' clued you in.  I'm a little surprised, though, that last one where you insisted that patricide should be made legal because of my example seemed to indicate clearly enough how my son and I are related."

 Julian turned to a very confused O'Brien, "He's from the Deafiant universe, "he explained.

"Ooh," O'Brien said in understanding.  Then, frowning, "Oh."

      ***

 Kira fidgeted in her chair as she waited for Sisko to finish.  The news that Tom Riker was in fact in the Deafiant universe had unsettled her considerably.  Although the possibility of meeting Ensign Kira again was remote, Kira couldn't help but be wary of that strange place where her double was a gadget crazy airhead and Dukat was the Pope.  Rescuing Tom Riker was suddenly a much trickier enterprise, and she wasn't sure now that she wanted to go through with it after all.

 But Sisko was now adamant.  "You will leave with Chief O'Brien and Enabran Tain in one hour.  I don't like the thought of that man on my station a second longer than he has to be, even if he isn't the leader of the Obsidian Order.  He's still a very intelligent, distrustful individual."

"Uh, sir?" O'Brien interjected.

"Yes Chief?"

"This Enabran Tain is...well, he's..." O'Brien coughed.  "He's really quite the old codger sir, and most of the time he doesn't make much sense, at least, to me.  I'm worried that we won't be able to figure out where this rift in the badlands is that leads to the alternate universe.  I was thinking, we might want to take someone along who is familiar with the way Enabran's mind works."

 Sisko raised an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting we invite Garak along?"

"I guess I am sir," O'Brien replied.

 Sisko sighed, "I doubt Dr. Bashir is going to be very happy about this."  He brooded for a moment, making his decision.

"Take him for the ride," Sisko said, "and keep an eye on him.  We don't want Garak causing any unnecessary complications."

      ***

"I don't care, " Garak said as he preened himself in front of the mirror one more time, "he is my father, and there is no stronger bond between Cardassians than that."

"He's Dr. Garak's father," Julian reminded him curtly, "not yours.  He's a postal worker, not the insidious Enabran Tain of the Obsidian Order who wrote the guidelines for Cardassian torture." 

 Garak merely glanced back at Julian with a sigh.

"Look, Garak, agreeing to have lunch with this madman is really a horrible idea.  He's nothing like your Tain.  He's a loudmouthed addict who doesn't have the best of relationships with you.  I mean, with your counterpart." Julian slapped his thigh with a determined fist.  "Garak, I can't let you go out and get hurt like this because of your sick obsession with pleasing your father." 

"That is not for you to decide," Garak said with dismissive finality, and walked out the door, leaving Julian alone with his worries.

 As he walked down the corridor an eerie feeling crept into the pit of his stomach, tying it into tortuous knots.  He could hear someone else's steps coming from the opposite direction, and Garak braced himself.  Sure enough, turning the corner, was the staggering form of his father.

"Enabran, how good to see you," Garak said blandly, holding his hand outstretched to shake it in greeting.  A human custom, but it seemed to be appropriate.

 Enabran ignored the gesture, as well as the calculated coolness that Garak had used towards him.  He walked briskly up to Garak, his arms open wide and a huge grin on his face.

"Elim!  My boy!" And he grabbed him in a fierce, fatherly embrace.  He kissed his 'son' on both cheeks and held his face in his hands.

"My dear boy, how good it is to see you!  You're keeping that good for nothing bastard of a husband of yours in line, I hope.  You're looking a little pale though, you should get down on that planet and get some real sunshine for a change.  It's food for the soul, you know. Those blatant rays will keep you closer to the almighty machinations of the universe." He appraised Garak's outfit with a quick, critical eye, "And you're out of that godawful uniform too.  This is much more flattering. I always told you that Starfleet crap made you look dodgy.  What do you say we go to the Replimat and get you  the biggest goddamn sundae they have, put all those nuts and crap on it like you like.  What's the matter boy?  Aren't you gonna give your prodigal father just a little sign of affection?  I know, you're mad that I left the rehab, but it was for the best son.  I wasn't getting the help I needed there, you know.  That program of theirs just wasn't working.  I'll do my best next time around, okay son, so don't get mad at me, I know you love me and you know that I love you too, don't you?  Son?  Garak, boy, why the fuck are you crying?"

      ***

"We're leaving in exactly twenty minutes," Garak said as he happily packed his suitcase.  To Julian's shock he was even humming a little tune, a Cardassian nursery rhyme if his memory served him, about the love of a boy and his father and a Ragnor beast that killed one of them.  It was sickeningly sentimental, to use Garak's description, yet here he was, humming it over and over as he packed his suitcase.

"Garak, you can't do this!" Julian exclaimed, "What if you get captured?  What if they're wrong and Tom Riker is still at a Cardassian work camp?  Garak.." Julian grabbed him by the shoulder and whirled him around to face him, "Why are you doing this?"

 Garak fought to keep the tears of his memory at his reunion with his father at a minimum.  "This move may be the best way to ally fears of my possible deceptions from Captain Sisko," Garak said carefully, "it is in our best interests as a couple that I prove myself to be trustworthy."

"Don't give me this crap, Elim, " Julian said to him, "you're going because of Enabran Tain.  I don't understand this, he wasn't even the man who raised you..."

"No, you don't understand, "Garak said curtly, lifting up his suitcase and leaving, "and I don't expect you to.  I'll see you later, my dear." And with a quick kiss on Julian's cheek he disappeared out of their quarters before he could hear any more of Julian's painful rebuttals.

     ***

 Enabran, soused on various substances he had procured at Quark's bar, lay humming an uneven tune in the runabout.  Every now and then the timbre of the song would change, and disjointed remnants of various songs would creep out of his slurring mouth.

"Tis the time...sea-eason...Going...San Francisco...Incense, peppermints....I'm, waiting for my ma-an...."

"Does his mouth ever shut up?" O'Brien muttered to Kira, and she gave him a sympathetic look.

"Now I'm telling you Elim," Enabran said to his son by proxy, "you've got to do something about that tailor's shop of yours.  I mean, you and I both know that you can't handle money, you still keep handing latinum to me knowing full well how I'm going to use it."

"Perhaps I am merely trying to make you happy," Garak said softly.

 Enabran snorted at this, "Please, Garak, happiness is one thing I've had to long abandon.  You know that.  When you've looked in the eye of hell long enough, like I have, there's no turning the wheel's to crack a smile anymore."  He looked upon Garak appraisingly, "Still, if there was one thing that did give me the occasional reason to relinquish my usual scowl and use less muscles in my face for the purposes of a tiny smile, I'd have to say it's because of you, boy."  Enabran slapped Garak on the back with pride, "In spite of my insane input you still turned out alright.  I can't for the life of me figure out how that happened."

 Garak's eyes misted and he choked back a sob.

"You have no idea what that means to me, Enabran."

"Don't you dare call me by my first name!" Enabran chided Garak angrily, "I'm your father!"

 Garak collapsed into a sob and grabbed his father in a fierce embrace.

"Thank you, thank you , _father_!"

"Damn kids," Enabran muttered, "got no respect these days, eh O'Brien?"

"My children have respect enough for me," O'Brien replied haughtily, "I give them plenty of reasons."

"That's what you think,"Enabran warned him, "but just wait until they start doing their homework and telling you that what he learned in school is more important than the lessons of the fiercer life you try to teach them.  And then you'll be begging, hoping against hope that the little prick will go to a party and get laid just once, and then he doesn't and you have to hire a prostitute, and you call her up out of an ad and she shows up on your doorstep in a see through negligee, only it ain't a she, it's a he, and not only a he but your son's gym coach from last year.  And so you invite him in and you end up talking the whole night about how Elim is a little clumsy in the phys. ed. department, but he assures you it's all just a phase..." 

 Enabran stopped his tirade, noting the stares of horror coming from all three occupants of the small craft. 

"It's just a theory..." Enabran said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair beneath the scrutiny.

 Still a little rankled, O'Brien turned his chair back to the console before him.  "We're approaching the badlands, in the area you mentioned," he said.  The ride became bumpy as the small craft was pushed along the various waves of unstable space.

"There's a moon," Kira said, pointing to her viewscreen, "is this where your 'rehab' was, Enabran?"

"Yeah, that's the place," Enabran replied, not bothering to look up.  He was inspecting the arm of the chair, wondering absently if it would be good hiding place for some of his stash.  So far no-one had found his latest flavor, and he hoped he could keep it a secret  and not ingest it until he really, really needed it.

 Granted, he mused, when don't I need a little something?

 He reached into the pocket of his tropical shirt and pulled out a couple of tiny red pills, and quickly he slipped them into his mouth before anyone noticed.  There, he thought, as calm waves began cascading over him, now I'm back in my element.  Ah, the bliss of destructive chemicals...

      ***

 They landed on the moon's surface, and to all of their dismay they were still in their own universe.  The sound of prisoners' axes falling onto the stones cut Kira and O'Brien to the core; they'd both seen the inside of this sort of hell. 

"We'll have to remain undetected," Kira said, "I think it would be wise if we double checked that Riker wasn't here.  I don't think I entirely trust this Enabran Tain's perceptions."

"Here, here." O'Brien replied, "The man's a self confessed delusionist."

"I have to tell you, it's time for some of the inoculation of the soul.  The freedom to walk amongst the tiniest speck of dust and hurl it into oblivion," He lifted up his shoe and grimaced at an imaginary disgusting sight.  "Damn cockroaches.  Just get out of the way, you stupid moronic insectoids, always clinging to the effervescence of my being."

 Kira looked up from her hiding place behind the boulder, her mouth agape.  Enabran was unevenly sidling up to the guard standing sentry over the workers, pulling his pants back into alignment by grabbing the seam in his butt.

"Enabran!  Father! NO!" Garak shouted, and ran after him, heedless of the danger he had just put himself in.

"Dammit," O'Brien said to Kira, "now what do we do?"

"We wait," Kira said.  "And I think we can now safely ease our way around the perimeter of the work camp.  With someone in as high a position as Enabran, they may just think he's here on official business."

"That's if he still has his high position," O'Brien reminded her, "his attack on the Founder's homeworld failed, remember?"

 Before them, Enabran and Garak were roughly manacled and dragged by a couple of guards away from the work camp.  As Garak struggled, one of the guards hit him on the head, and the Cardassian fell to the ground, unconscious.

"I guess you're right, " Kira sighed, "now we have to rescue those two as well.  If it wasn't for the fact he came from that ridiculous place..."

"Not so ridiculous," O'Brien reminded her, "I am a man of the cloth there you know."

"Yes," Kira said darkly, recalling her own incarnation with severe ire, "I remember."

      ***
 Garak awoke to find himself with his hands cuffed behind his back, binding him to an uncomfortable chair.  Beside him was his father, the great Enabran Tain, in equal bondage.  He didn't seem very perturbed by the entire situation.  The chamber was filled with the sound of Tain's snoring. 

 Garak's rustling against his restraints woke the elderly man up with a grunt, and he blinked into the dim surroundings of the interrogation chamber.

"Damn, not this place again," he groaned.

 In answer, the door behind them creaked open, and Garak turned in his chair with a painful twist to see who would be performing the interrogation.  It was always good to see how other people worked the craft, Garak thought.  To his dismay, the large imposing figure of Gul Madred peered down at them, his face betraying a feeling of smugness.  No, they were  definitely not in the presence of a skilled torturer, Garak thought with disdain, just a thug who thought he was one.

 People like Madred just didn't appreciate the Art.

"So," he said, "I have the benefit of bringing down the masters.  I am flattered, gentlemen."

"I am not sure exactly what you have us in here for," Garak said to him politely.  "I certainly have no information that you could find useful.  Starfleet trusts me with nothing.  As for my fa..As for Enabran Tain, he has just recently been freed from a Dominion prison.  I'm sure that anything he learned there you already know."

 Gul Madred chuckled darkly and pulled a black Obsidian dagger from his desk's drawer.  "I am not so sure about that, Garak.  The two of you did come here in a rather suspicious manner, and Enabran, " he bowed to Tain, " though I am honored at your presence I am a little confused by your recent actions."  He paced before the two of them, his eyes deadly and amused.

"I must admit, however, that keeping a fellow Cardassian manacled is extremely rude." He pressed a button on his desk and the restraints were immediately released.  Garak rubbed at his sore wrists and glared back at Madred.

 Madred held out a small box containing several capsules.

"I suggest you take one of these," Madred said, "otherwise you will be manacled once again and force fed it.  If you are co-operative, I promise you that this exercise will not last long."

 Garak tentatively took a pill that he knew to be a heightener of physical pain.  Madred was always so boringly obvious in his tactics.  He popped the pill into his mouth and hid it beneath his tongue, pretending to swallow.  Beside him Enabran grabbed a pill and tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth like candy.  Madred frowned a little at this gesture, but then shrugged it aside.  Enabran Tain was a brilliant man and he had great respect for him and his teachings.  He had to expect a little eccentricity.  He walked behind his two prisoners and went into the hall to talk to his two sentry guards.  Ah, yes, the false promise of trust, Garak thought, how dull.

 With Madred's back turned, Enabran lunged for the box of pills and took a giant handful, stuffing them easily into his mouth.  Garak looked on in horror.

"Are you insane?" He dared to say, "Do you have any idea what that drug is going to do to you?"

"I happen to be balancing several complicated physics experiments," Enabran said to Garak with unabashed pride.  He felt his left eye grow the size of a watermelon and take on the same texture and hue.  Garak was a giant Cardassian infant, cooing at him in the seat beside him.

 Madred came back to the pair, smiling.   He pulled out four small objects from a drawer in his desk and arranged them in a row. 

"I believe you know the drill, " Gul Madred said to Enabran.  "I am putting out four lights.  But by the end of our session you will understand that there are in fact _five_ lights."

"Really, Madred, "Garak said with bemusement, "is this little parlor trick the _best_ you can do?" 

 Madred ignored him, "Tell me Enabran, how many lights do you see on this table?"

 Enabran began counting, passing five and moving onto twenty.

"Holy shit!  Lookit them all!" He exclaimed staring all around the room.  He swung his arms around him, battling with invisible assailants.  "Watch it son, the ones with the tentacles are the worst."  He leapt out of his seat and jumped onto Madred's desk swatting at the air.

"What do you think you're doing?" Madred shouted at him.

 Enabran was now quaking with The Fear, and if he didn't get a hold of some semblance of tangible madness soon he was going to be irrevocably in its grip.

"I have to get under control, "he said aloud, his voice edged with dangerous panic, "I have to find my way.  I must maintain.  Maintain, Tain, maintain..."

 He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a small revolver.

"It's okay," he said, aiming the gun at the various hallucinatory lights, "I got this whole situation in the resolved mode..."

 He fired several bullets into the air, and they pinged against the metal walls of the room, ricocheting madly like small deadly missiles.  Both Madred and Garak dived under the desk while Enabran continued firing his gun.  In the midst of madness, Garak still remembered to delicately spit out the pill that was sitting beneath his tongue.

"How did you manage to miss him having a weapon?" Garak asked, his voice a dripping sneer, "Didn't you search him?"

"I.." Madred was searching for a possible explanation, "I ran a scan over both of you.  The weapon is so ancient, it must have missed it."

"YeeeeHaaaw!  Gotcha ya little fragment of tortuous excuse!"

 The two sentry guards burst into the room, only to dive to the floor themselves as the independent bullets continued to zing through the air.  Taking the pandemonium as an opportunity of escape, Garak braved the onslaught and grabbed his madman father off of Madred's desk and out the door of the interrogation room.  A bullet grazed his ear and left it bleeding.

     ***

 They weren't pursued.  Madred had been too busy cowering beneath his desk to give the order that they were to be sought.  Garak had managed to slink both himself and his father back to the runabout where, miraculously, Kira and O'Brien had also just arrived.

 Kira sighed angrily and punched her thigh with a frustrated fist.  "Oh, and now we won't be detected, will we?  Two prisoners escape and run straight to the escape craft.  Just brilliant, Garak.  I would have thought that at least you would know how to be cautious..."

"They aren't pursuing us Colonel," Garak rebutted, "my father left Madred cowering beneath his desk."

"Gul Madred?" O'Brien said, incredulous.  He eyed Enabran with a doubtful respect.

"Just get into the damn ship," Kira said, pushing Enabran into the entrance and O'Brien and Garak followed in behind him.  Kira was the last to enter, the doors closing on her quick, no nonsense entrance.

"I take it you didn't find Tom Riker?" Garak asked.  Kira merely growled in response and Garak took that as a negative.

 They powered up the shuttle and rose swiftly above the small moon, it shrank in size behind them, but two Cardassian warships had left its surface as well and both were in hot pursuit. 

"Gul Madred must have got his bearings," Kira said.

"Damn," O'Brien muttered, "I thought we could get to at least one planet where we wouldn't get into a space fight."

"Always the luck of the Irish," Kira deadpanned.

 Garak watched the impending disaster with bated breath.  "I suppose now would be a bad time to mention than Julian and I have actually decided to be engaged?"

"Yes, it would be a bad time, " O'Brien said through gritted teeth as he maneuvered the small craft in between the bursts of phaser fire, missing the calculation every now and then and sending the craft into a painful, creaking, shudder.  "Actually, anytime would be a bad time for that kind of news."

"Yes," Garak said pensively, waiting for the final phaser burst to kill them all, "I imagine you would think so. After all, the Alamo hasn't had quite the same fascination for Julian since he and I have been together, and I can understand how lonely you are with no-one else to play with."

"You can cut the sarcasm, you damn Cardie bastard."

"Racial slurs are hardly the way to address your best friend's fiancé."

"Sonofa.."

"Look, will the two of you just shut up.  We're going to get killed, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed, Colonel, I just wanted to get a few details out of the way before my imminent demise..."

 Enabran barely registered the argument going on around him, he was too busy looking at the wound on Elim's ear.  It was trickling blood down his neck in a thin stream.  A piercing stab was ripping its way through Enabran's soul as he watched the red line dip into the top of Elim's tunic.

"I shot my son," he thought, the realization both shocking and sickening him.  Just one tiny millimeter and Elim...

 And then, in that split second of clarity, Enabran saw his son laying on the floor, blood gushing from a small hole in his head, just a tiny fraction above his ear.  Elim, his little boy who wasn't good in gym class, read too many books and spent too many of his after school hours stepping over the passed out form of dear old dad lying on the floor, his small tired steps wandering into the kitchen, talking to the broken replicator, scrounging the cupboards for something to eat...

 The years were gone.  His son was dead.  And there was no hope in taking back that little boy into his arms and going out for yamizza, or throwing him a baseball, or spending long days lazily together in the sun.

"Elim," he said softly, tears glassing his eyes as he tried to reach towards the trickling wound, but Garak didn't hear him, didn't hear the painful sorrow coming out of Enabran's soul.

"I never did see the appeal of that program," Garak said to O'Brien.

"No," Enbran said aloud, mostly to himself, with an honesty he hadn't allowed himself in a long, long time, "too often people do.  And then all of history is a blink, a forgotten phrase." He patted the contents of his left pocket guiltily, "A life you can't remember properly at all."

"I happen to think Julian and I did a mighty good job on the Alamo," O'Brien rebutted.  But Enabran remained silent, patting  the pocket of his shirt, lost as usual in his own little world.

 Suddenly, before them were three Jem' Hadar warships and O'Brien dropped out of warp.  There was no use trying to escape now.  The Dominion had won this round.  The small craft bobbed unevenly, still partially sitting in the unstable rippling of space in the Badlands.

 They waited to be hailed, but in a strange twist,  they heard the sound of a transporter beam.  Before them, his face betraying his joy at this particular capture, Weyoun accompanied by two Jem' Hadar materialized on the runabout. 

"I wanted to be the first to see you as my prisoner," Weyoun beamed, "Enabran Tain."

 Enabran looked up lazily, and then frowned, "Oh, no, not you again.  If you make me look at any of your damn inkblots I'm going to put you through a paper shredder and watch the streams of your blue blood make interesting psychoanalytical patterns on the floor tiles."

"Such hostility," Weyoun tut-tutted, "for a man who is about to return to prison and wait a very, very long time before his death sentence.  The Founder has requested you be interrogated, and I am more than willing to do as she wishes." Weyoun glanced at the other occupants of the runabout, "As well as the rest of you. We have many--special--events planned for you all."

 O'Brien scowled and was about to hurl a massive flood of colorful, cursing insults concerning the smugness of giant elves, but before he could get a chance the runabout was severely nudged. 

"You'd better tow us away from the badlands border," Kira said to Weyoun, "if you want all of us to get out of here alive."

"I agree," Weyoun said, smiling, "Weyoun to The Marator."

 No response.

"Ahem, Weyoun to The Marator."

 Static.

 Weyoun frowned, "Computer, locate The Marator."

"Marator here, what do you want?" The viewscreen blinked into life, the visage of a bored Cardassian appeared with an equally  bored voice.

"I want you to beam the prison..."

"Uh, will the small shuttlecraft on the border of Nexes Two please display thier shuttle registration and flight license?  We can let you dock afterwards."

"Registration?" Weyoun asked, frowning. He looked back at his prisoners, but they had the same blank look on their faces that he was wearing.

"I don't understand, I just want you to.."

"There is a three hundred latinum fine for operating a shuttlecraft without the proper license," the Cardassian sighed, not looking up at them.  "The shuttle will be seized and towed, at your expense."

"But..but.." Weyoun stammered, "I don't understand this..."

"I think _I_ do," Kira said, staring wide-eyed at the screen, "we're in an alternate universe."

"Which one?" O'Brien asked, his forehead puckering into a worried frown.

 They felt the shuttle suddenly begin lurching forward of its own accord, The Marator had placed a tractor beam on the runabout and was towing them.

"I suppose we're about to find out," Garak said, "and since they haven't blasted us out of space there is a good chance that it isn't that other 'mirror' universe you had the misfortune to enter."

"I'm not sure I like this one any better, " Kira replied.  "What do they do when you can't pay the fine?"

      ***

 They sat in the small, clean cell patiently, watching the bustle of the Cardassian police of Precinct 1141 hard at work.  It was remarkably clean and neat, Kira noted, and the officers were certainly in good physical shape.

"You have to be to take down drunken Klingons," the officer on their case had said to her, "we get at least three or four of those guys a night during the Summer Solstice celebrations."

 The Solstice, Kira had learned, was a leftover of Hebitian culture.  It involved parades and open air concerts, food festivals and carnivals.  It had become one of Cardassia Prime's greatest tourist attractions, but unfortunately as with all festivities there were a few who always had too much fun.  Security had to be tight on these occasions, as a few deadly riots in the past were hopefully not going to be repeated.

 And, of course, just their luck to have two Jem Ha'adar soldiers with K White tubes attached to their jugulars and Enabran Tain with a pharmaceutical company's stash hidden in the arm of his chair.

 Weyoun was pacing frantically in back and forth staring out into faces he recognized and at the same time didn't.  His two Jem Ha'adar soldiers had been transferred to an emergency medical facility, the paramedics muttering something or other about 'drying out'.  He pounded at the forcefield with his fist, " I demand to be released!  Do you have any idea who I am?"

 The police force, used to much more abusive prisoners, ignored him.  Weyoun felt his pride simmer hotly within the confines of his consciousness.  No one ignored the personal aide to the Founder and got away with it, he would see to that.

 Behind him he could hear Garak and Enabran talking to each other, Enabran saying something cryptic involving 'fishing' and 'I'll take you next time'.  Weyoun turned around and stared at them.  They were as good a target as any to release his venom on.

"The two of you really are pathetic," Weyoun said, "You," he pointed to Garak, "a simpering puppet who was only born to be a proxy of his father.  It's too bad he never thought you were good enough for the job, eh Garak?  Sending you off for exile at the merest hint of scandal.  I wonder what your real father would think these days of your impending engagement to Dr. Bashir?  Can't you just hear the bones cracking while his blood boils in its grave?"

 Garak looked at Weyoun steadily.  "How do you know about the engagement?"

"Surveillance of course," Weyoun replied, smiling, "you and Dr. Bashir have been most educational, I must say."

 O'Brien and Kira stared at Weyoun in alarm.

"You sick, sonofabitch," O'Brien spat, "I ought to kill you right now."

 Garak was pale, feeling queasy at the thought of Weyoun watching him and Julian during their more intimate moments.  Enabran noted the look on his son's face, recognizing the familiar pallor of shame. It hurt him, deeply, to see the pain etched on his son's face.

 O'Brien reeled up to throw a good punch, but Enabran stopped his hand with a gentle nudge of his own.  He shook his head at O'Brien. 

"I'll take care of this," Enabran said to him in confidence.

 He went to the edge of the cell.

"Hey, officer," he said to the nearest Cardassian.

"Yes?"
 Enabran nodded towards Weyoun, "You might want to check him out.  He's hiding some of his stash, if you know what I mean."

 The officer sighed.  "Hey, Madred!" He shouted.  "We got another one!"

 Some heavy cursing and a slouching familiar form reluctantly approached the cell's entranceway.

"That one," the other officer said, pointing to Weyoun.

 Narcotics Officer Madred shook his head wearily and pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket.  He pulled the snug covering over his hand and let it go with a snap. 

"There are some days I really hate my job," he muttered under his breath as he shut down the forcefield and dragged Weyoun away.

 Kira watched the entire procedure with interest.  "Where are they taking him?" She asked guardedly.

"To be searched," Enabran replied, unable to keep the giggle out of his voice.

      ***

"Okay, " Officer Revat said to them, handing them each a small card, "this is the date of your trial as well as the name of your lawyers.  You are advised to contact your lawyers immediately, failure to do so could impede the results of your trial. We are not responsible for the contact of your lawyers.  Should your lawyer be unavailable, you are to call the number here," he pointed at the row of numbers on the bottom of the card, "and you will immediately be assigned a new one.  Do not miss your trial date, it will result in an instant guilty verdict and you will have to find legal advice at your own expense.  Do you understand?"

 All four nodded in unison, Weyoun perhaps a little more stiffly than the others.  He had declined the offer of a seat.

"Okay," Officer Revat continued, "you are all free to go pending your trials except for, " he rummaged through his data padds, "Embryonic Pain."

"Enabran Tain," Garak clarified, gesturing to him, "he's my father."

"I see," Revat said.  "So you are aware that he has not completed his mandatory drug rehabilitation sentence from three years ago?"

"No, I wasn't aware of that," Garak lied openly.

"He's going to have to go back and complete it," Revat said with finality.  "We'll have to take him into custody and have him transported there."

"Can we all go?" Kira said quickly, and Revat gave her an odd look.

"I'm not sure..."

"How can you force me to abandon my father without his family seeing him off properly?" Garak said with indignation.

 Revat looked at the odd mix before him--A Vorta, a human, a Bajoran, not to mention the two Jem Ha'adar currently in detox.

"Family?" Revat asked.

"I'm his adoptive daughter," Kira replied.  She grabbed Enabran's arm and hugged it fiercely, "Don't worry dad, we'll get you through all this, right big brother?"

 Garak bristled a little at this and glared at Kira, "As long as your husband Miles is willing to let bygones be bygones."

"Oh for Christ's sake," O'Brien replied, rolling his eyes, "Kira honey, you know that he'll be in there for a day and then he'll find some way to break out.  He always does thanks to your no good cousin Weyoun here."

 Weyoun stared back at O'Brien, his mouth dropping at being drawn into this ridiculous lie.

"I am not..."

"I wouldn't worry too much about his influence anymore, " Enabran said, "he's getting a little too strange even for me.  I mean bringing along his boyfriends Jack and Squat..."

"What?!"

 Enabran glanced uncomfortably back at Officer Revat, "Those two other guys...Don't ask me the details, I didn't ask and I really didn't want to know.  I mean, he's part of my flesh and blood, but I'm just not into that kind of kink, you know what I'm saying?"

 Officer Revat gave Weyoun a sidelong glance, his expression summing up his moral disgust.  Weyoun's frantic protests were doing nothing to help exonerate him.

"You can all accompany him to the Rehabilitation Center.  I don't see there being any problem with that since you are family.  It might be a good idea anyway," he said to Kira and Garak, "it'll give you a good overview of the kind of treatment that will be provided for your father.  And maybe," he glanced back at Weyoun again, "maybe we could find a spot for your cousin too."

"That would be just wonderful, " Kira gushed, smiling widely, "I'm sure Weyoun and his two..friends...could really use some extra help."

"You rotten, Bajoran bitch!" Weyoun exclaimed.

 Kira feigned a sob.  "It's so hard at times, so very hard to see it's just the drugs talking," she sniffed. "Ever since his parents died all those years ago and he came to live with us... We grew up together.  He's my little baby brother." She choked on another creative sob.

 Officer Revat patted her on the arm.  "I understand, " he said.

"He's probably coming off of something right now, " Enabran sighed, "did your officer find anything?"

"No," Revat replied, "and it's unlikely that he missed anything, Officer Madred is extremely thorough."

"Damn, " Enabran said, looking with shame at the floor, "he must have taken it all.  You might want to put him in restraints,  cocaine doesn't react very well in the Vorta bloodstream, and at the same time it's very difficult to detect."

"Yes, I know," Revat sighed, looking on Enabran and his family with sincere sympathy.  This was what the Cardassian family was all about, putting aside personal animosities and coming together in times of crisis.  The scene of such affection and familial love displayed before him was enough to make the hardened Officer's heart burst.  He had to fight the urge to embrace them all in a group hug. 

"The shuttle will be ready in about ten minutes, " Revat said to them, feeling his voice choke up just a little, "and good luck to all of you, and God bless."

      ***

 The harsh, shrill sound of Tom Riker's whistle made the prisoners cringe in agony.  A sickly thin and pale Cardassian was bracing himself against the wall, wheezing. Annoyed, his human tormentor briskly walked up to him and pulled him to his unsteady feet.  The Cardassian youth could only acquiesce; there was no fighting Tom Riker when he was involved in a game of volleyball.

"All right," Tom said to them sternly, "let's try this again.  And this time, I want to see more effort being made to actually get the ball _over_ the net."

 He dived under the net, the white volleyball firmly in his grip.  He walked to the serving line and gestured to the other team to go back, he was going to pop a long one.  He tested his wrist against the outstretched distance of the ball, and when he was satisfied he let it impact in one, quick stroke. The volleyball rose in the air swiftly, making a perfect arc over the net, the most perfect serve he'd made yet.  Except, of course, for the fact that the ball ended it's travel by smacking the poor young Cardassian in the face with enough force to knock over his skinny body.  The youth lay on the floor, clutching his nose while the volleyball was ignored, rolling back and forth by his side.  The other players had their arms crossed over their chests, some shaking thier heads, others giving 'you idiot' glances at Tom Riker.

"Sorry about that," Riker said sheepishly as he walked over to the injured party. "Uh, I guess the game's canceled for today folks."

"Thankfully," a Bajoran muttered under his breath.

"Rematch tomorrow," Riker reminded them as he helped the youth to his feet, his nose a bleeding mess, "Don't forget, 1300 hrs."

 The gym was filled with grumbles as both teams slumped out the doors, leaving Tom alone with the Cardassian youth. Tom Riker helped the young lad unsteadily to his feet, his nose wasn't bleeding as badly as it had a moment before, but it was obvious he still needed medical treatment.

"Come on," Tom encouraged, allowing the youth to lean into him for support, "we'll get you to the nurse's office and then you'll be as good as new."

 They left the hologym and Tom eased his charge down the long corridor to the nurse's station.  It was a trip he knew well, it seemed every game resulted in at least one injury or two.  He couldn't for the life of him understand what the problem was, volleyball wasn't exactly a contact sport.

 He stood in the entrance of the nurse's station, the youth hugging the wall for support and huffing and puffing for breath.  Nurse Ro Laren walked past the door and the sight of the bloodied visage of the young Cardassian stopped her in her tracks.

"Mica!" She exclaimed, "Are you alright?  Oh, you poor thing, what happened?"

"Niker nit me nin the face with a bollyball."

 Dr. Occett appeared behind her and helped ease the young man into her office, "Another faceplant with a volleyball, huh?" She said to him, glancing at Riker who by now was wanting to crawl beneath the floorboards in embarrassment.

"It was an accident," Riker tried to explain, but both the nurse and the doctor were now ignoring him and were busy running tricorders over Mica's nose.

"I just..." Riker was glared at again, and he shut his mouth. "I'll just wait outside here," he said quickly, and left Mica in their care.

 Nurse Ro Laren shook her head as she washed the blood off of Mica's face, "I just don't understand how a man who is as charming as Tom Riker can be such a jackass sometimes," she said.  "There's no way of putting a nice picture to this, he's a terrible counselor and an even worse gym instructor.  Just the other day I caught him telling one of the new recruits, who was going through some withdrawal I might add, about how he was left alone on a dusty planet with no-one around to help him and the loneliness nearly killed him.  The poor kid, he had enough nightmare images to deal with without Tom Riker adding a few of his own." She tossed the stained towels into the recycler, "He's lousy at his job."

"Yes, " Dr. Ocett agreed, "but he is good for a few things." She gave Ro Laren a knowing look and the Bajoran smiled back.

"Ah, yes, but _that_ only helps _our_ morale."

"A very satisfying and effective aide to our morale, if you ask me," Dr. Occett mused as she finished healing Mica's broken nose, "I for one would hate to lose his presence here.  It's not like I'm going to find the male of my dreams lurking in the halls of a drug rehabilitation clinic, and a church run one at that.  Riker is the only man here who isn't part of the clergy."  She tossed the tricorder onto the counter behind her, "And it's not like we get a lot of chances to leave the moon either.  I haven't had a vacation in months." She tilted Mica's head back and forth inspecting the angle of his nose, she peered into his face and stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

"Tom Riker's a freak," Mica said pointedly.  "He's a nice guy and all, but I'm getting sick of getting beaned by his stupid volleyballs."

"Would you like me to have a talk with Father Damar?" Nurse Ro asked.

"Yeah, okay, " Mica said reluctantly, "but I don't want Tom to leave either.  Like I said, he's a nice guy, I don't want to get him into any trouble.  He'd be a good janitor or something."

"I'm sure we can all work something out," Nurse Ro asserted, "we did in the past."

"Go on, and start eating something will you?  You'll make the anorexics jealous." Dr. Ocett swatted him on the back and Mica smiled back at her and hopped off the biobed.

"Oh, and Mica," he turned back, to Nurse Ro. "Heads up next time."
 

"***

 Father Damar was having a rotten day.  First, he discovered that the church had decreased his budget expenditures by ten percent, which meant some more creative accounting was needed.  He wondered what miracle Quark would be able to procure this time, and he hoped it didn't involve something like the elimination of yamizza day.  That particularly frugal gesture had nearly caused a riot amongst the 'tenants' of the establishment. Second, he found out that Enabran Tain was coming back, and not only Enabran Tain but his former counselor Weyoun as well.  Father Damar sighed heavily to himself, shuffling through the various PADDS on his desk, all of which involved Enabran Tain's clear inability to be persuaded against his addiction to drugs.  That wasn't the worst of his sins, however.  Enabran had an uncanny ability to draw others into his psychedelic web, probably because of his intense pride in being the world's 'oldest junkie'. 

 Father Damar sat back in his large, leather chair, thoroughly exhausted.  He didn't relish the thought of meeting up with Weyoun again either, the pompous ass.  If he allowed himself a tiny moment of gloating, he could smile at the thought of the great Counselor Weyoun becoming an addict himself. It was definitely a moment worthy of meditating on the joys of Divine Justice.

 Weyoun had written one book on drug counseling and the Federation Medical Association had lauded his methods with the greatest of praise.  The Cardassian Medical Association, however, had found quite a few flaws in Weyoun's theories of 'forcing drug addicts to admit they are wrong', pointing out the very basic tenet that those with addictions can't be treated by force, it's a personal decision on their part to do what's needed to beat their synthetic demons.  Not to mention that drugs were merely a symptom of larger psychological problems.

 Still, even with these facts at their disposal, the Cardassian Judiciary System in association with the Federational Law Committee decided that instead of arresting drug addicts, they would just be automatically forced into rehabilitation. 

 The success rate of the clinic had plummeted, of course, but Father Damar had to admit that there was the occasional breakthrough.  If nothing else, at least this forcible treatment purged them of the drugs in their systems, giving them for the first time in possibly years, the benefit of seeing their lives clearly and not in a drug induced fog.  If they had been able to stay at the clinic past their 'drying out' period, Father Damar may have seen more progress.  However, once the drugs were fully out of their bodies, they were permitted to leave, and thus the underlying problem of why they were taking the drugs in the first place was glossed over and they kept coming back a year, a month, a week later.

 It had been Father Damar, who only about five years ago, had convinced the Cardassian Medical Association that he be permitted to offer an experimental 'full program' that offered both medical assistance and therapy to the clinic's tenants until it was deemed that they really were fully clean of illegal substances, and also had the benefit of a back-up support group once their time at the clinic was over.  The success rate had been phenomenal, in upwards of eighty percent, much to the chagrin of Counselor Weyoun, who was busy making clones of himself in his newest venture from what Father Damar had heard.  Weyoun had written a new bestseller called "The Many Sides of Me", which was an exploration of the literal splitting of his personality and being.

 Father Damar had received some quiet fame, and the Federation had him listed in the running for the Peace Prize, but he gracefully declined the nomination.  Although he didn't receive even half the fame that Weyoun did, whose flawed theories were still being discussed, Father Damar was not one to revel in his vanity, an unfortunate virtue to the detriment of the universe's addicts.  He didn't want to take all the credit for the work that had been done in the clinic.  After all, he did have an excellent staff.

 Father Damar sighed, which brought him to his third and most difficult problem.

 Tom Riker.

 Father Damar shifted uncomfortably in his seat and picked up the offending PADD that had been giving him the biggest headache since the morning began.  It was Tom Riker's file, and it wasn't pretty.  Fourteen complaints had been made against him this week alone.  Most of them involved his coaching technique--a grueling, nasty, self-esteem killing methodology that Riker seemed to think was appropriate with mentally fragile people.  Father Damar had taken on two cases of Rikerism (he'd coined a phrase for the phenomenon), where the dogged souls had spent their evenings weeping themselves to sleep uttering phrases such as: "I won't let you down again, Tom, I swear I'll serve the ball over the net next time!  I swear!" 

"Volleyball," Father Damar muttered over his forms.  He couldn't for the life of him figure out what was wrong with Tom.  Outside of the court he was a genuinely likeable fellow, even charming to a certain degree.  But his constant, nagging drive once he was in that court seemed to drive all reason out of him, and the urge to compete was like a drug in and of itself to Tom.  His methods were destructive, and the effects were starting to be felt in their statistics.  The returning rate was beginning to climb again, and several of the readmitted claimed that harrowing flashbacks of Tom's volleyball practices were the reason. 

 It was woefully obvious.  Father Damar was going to have to fire Tom Riker.

 There was a tentative knock on his door, and Father Damar looked darkly up from the PADD before him to see the cause of his now monumental headache in the door's frame.

"Tom," he said, "I've been waiting for you.  Please, have a seat."

 Tom smiled and sank into the chair with a plop, perfectly at ease in the Father's presence.  He picked up a wooden object, a strange spherical creation carved with intricate patterns of pastoral life on its surface.

"It's Hebitian, " Father Damar said before Tom could ask, "I picked it up at the market last week, and I got quite a bargain too."

"I should hope so," Tom Riker replied, squinting as he found something on the bottom, "since it's a fake."

"What do you mean?  It had papers," Father Damar took the sphere from Riker's hand.

"Look on the bottom," Riker explained, "you have to look very carefully.  Do you see what it says?"

 A tiny, barely perceptible line became focused in Father Damar's vision.  It read:  Made in Bajor.

"How disappointing," Father Damar sighed, placing the object back on the side of his desk with a much less delicate touch than his former treatment of it.

"What was it you needed to see me about?" Riker asked, sinking with even more comfort into his chair.

 Father Damar bit his bottom lip, wondering just how to phrase this correctly.  Somehow, 'You suck at your job', as Nurse Ro had suggested, didn't seem very professional or tactful.

"Tom, you know how much we like you here," Father Damar began.

"Yes, I know," Tom replied in confidence.

"Yes..." Father Damar faltered a little at Tom's certainty, "It's only, well, it's come to my attention that there are a few things we need to discuss.  Your position here, your methods, specifically your volleyball coaching..."

"I think we can beat the Rehabilitation team from Risa this year, " Tom asserted.  "I'm telling you, the boys are already getting primed and fired up to get that trophy."

"Tom..."

"I can taste the victory already, I really can.  We've got this one sealed, Father, you just wait..."

"Tom," Father Damar interrupted again forcefully, "I no longer think it is in anyone's best interests if you keep coaching."  He let out a forced breath.  There, he'd said it.

 Tom Riker looked at Father Damar confused. "I'm sorry Father, I didn't hear you, what did you say?"

"I said, it is no longer in the best interests of anyone here for you to keep coaching.  It isn't working, Tom and you're doing more harm than good, no matter how high your good intentions."

"Are you," Tom replied, stunned, "are you *firing* me?"

 At the look of utter dejection in Tom's eyes, Father Damar could feel his soft heart cave a little.

"Well, no.  I don't want to..."

"Damn," Tom said, "where am I going to go now?  I put so much of my life into this."

"I know, and..."

"I have nothing else here, Father, what am I going to do?"

"I..." Father Damar looked helplessly into Tom Riker's pained face, "I'll see if there's something else you can do."

 Riker nodded, numbly.  He rose from his chair, and slumped to the door.  As he was about to leave, a red button began blinking furiously on the corner of Father Damar's desk.

"That would be Enabran," Father Damar said, the words difficult to form through the pounding of his migraine.  The red blinking seemed to dance in unison with the throbbing in his skull.  He looked up at the dejected form of Tom Riker.

"Why don't you go and get him settled in?" Father Damar offered. 

"If you trust me to, " Tom Riker shrugged. 

"Of course," Father Damar replied warmly, "if anyone can handle Enabran Tain, it's you."  And better you than me, or anyone else.  "You seem to be the most immune to his psychotic rambling.  Most other people find him too disturbing to deal with.  Myself included, if I may be honest."

 Tom tapped at the door frame with a sense of resignation.  "I understand," he said.

 Tom Riker nodded wanly, and left the office to do his last assignment for the Our Lady of the Little Flower Rehabilitation Clinic. 

***

"So then I told him, 'If you want to get that kind of admittance, you'll have to kiss my ass first!'"

 Kira erupted into another fit of paralyzing laughter at Enabran's latest tale, and she clutched her sides, doing her best to get her bearings. Garak, O'Brien and Weyoun looked on the pair wanly, all of them finding Enabran's brand of humor a little on the tasteless side.

 Kira, however, thought he was the most hilarious man she had ever met.

"Tell me again about that giant squid," she said through her mirthful tears.

"I just told you that story," Enabran replied.

"Four times," O'Brien reminded Kira disdainfully.

"Yes, but every time you tell it, you add more details," Kira said to Enabran, smiling widely, "it always changes wildly, and it keeps getting better."

"That's because he's making it up as he goes along," O'Brien said, crossing his arms over his chest.  He was really getting tired of Enabran's boisterous voice.

"The squid story is rather funny," Garak defended, and Weyoun nodded, "especially the part about the tentacles..."

 Kira collapsed to the floor of the shuttle in another insane fit of guffaws.

"Ha Ha Ha...Testicles!"

 O'Brien rolled his eyes at this.  "Come on Kira, it's not *that* funny."

 But Kira couldn't hear him, she was too busy rolling around the shuttlecraft floor in a fit of giggles.  As she struggled to regain her breath, she gazed at the ceiling, smiling widely.

"You know Enabran, I really wish *you* were the one who existed in our universe," Kira said as her breathing came back to normal.  "You could have turned the entirety of Cardassian society upside down, to its benefit--and consequently ours."  Kira erupted into another fit of rippling giggles, " Instead of 'Strength is Education' and 'Joy is weakness' being your ethos you could say 'Tune in, turn on and drop out.'"

"No good Kira," O'Brien said to her, "Timothy Leary already said that."

"Really?" Kira replied, and she chewed on her bottom lip.  "Huh, and I thought that was a pretty original idea."  She frowned in concentration.

"I know!" She exclaimed, her mirth returning to her features, "How about <snort, giggle> 'Make love, not war.'" She burst into a fit of giggles that O'Brien was finding more and more annoying.

"That one was used too," O'Brien said.

"For Prophets' sake," Kira said sharply, "what is with you people and one-liners?"

 Enabran watched the exchange with some interest, but he noticed his body was beginning to already feel the effects of having very little outside influence in his system.  His stomach was tying itself into strangling knots, and he knew that if he didn't get something soon he was going to start having some very scary images of rabid white mice popping between the ridges of his skin.  It was the one really bad thing about being a Cardassian and an addict--your own body had an awful lot of imagery to offer your frightened subconscious.  And there was nothing worse than a scared subconscious when it wasn't on anything to support it. 

 He did have a couple of poppers hidden in the heel of his shoe, but if he could hold off for another hour he might be able to escape the clinic in time and take it before the DTs really took effect.

"Perhaps the new motto could be something like:  Cardassia, yours to discover."

"Sorry, Garak, " O'Brien replied, yawning, "that one was taken by a tourist board."

 Garak frowned, disgusted with himself, "I really should have been able to think of something better than that." He glanced up at Enabran apologetically, half expecting from the look Enabran could discern on his son's face, to be severely chastised for not having a sharp enough quip.

"I think whatever you have to say is good enough," Enabran replied, putting a fatherly hand on his son's shoulder, and inwardly cringing at the statement's banality.  He wasn't very good at encouragement, his trite, cliched sentences had been gleaned from ancient human television programs, notably from father figures Ward Cleever and Homer Simpson. 

 Garak shook his head as he looked intently into Enabran's eyes.

"How I wish you had been my father," he said.

"I..." Enabran began, and stopped. 

"I'd say," Kira replied, "it couldn't have been a treat for you, having the man who created a methodology for torture being your mentor.  That's the only thing I feel sorry for you about."

 Garak smiled wanly at this, and turned his head away from Enabran, concentrating on a control panel instead.

 Enabran sighed, seeing a little shade of the boy he'd seen grow up only in snippets, a lifetime of togetherness wasted.  He might not have been a torturer, but he'd be lying to himself if he thought he was a better father.  His Elim had always forgiven him, but he knew he didn't deserve that kind of absolution.

 He put his hand on Elim's shoulder and patted it warmly.

"My son," he said wistfully. 

 Garak turned around and flashed him a small smile, his eyes betraying what he wouldn't admit vocally.  He agreed with Kira.

"I wonder how Riker's faring in there," O'Brien said to Kira, changing the subject.  "He never seemed the type to me to be able to 'counsel' someone."

"No, " Kira said, "but he was cute."

 The shuttle came to an abrupt stop and its five passengers collapsed in a heap together on the floor.

"Get off of me!" Weyoun shouted at Enabran.

"Sounds like there's a guy weirding out," someone outside of the shuttle said, "better get the restraints."

"Hey!" Weyoun replied as he was dragged roughly out of the shuttle by two burly Cardassian women, "Get your hands off me!"

"Better give him a full cavity search while you're at it!" Enabran shouted to them and they nodded back, Weyoun's cries of protest hitting higher notes at the news. 

 They walked out of the shuttle into a pristine, almost homey looking docking bay.  Several comfortable looking couches lined the walls, and there were little stacks of neatly piled magazines everywhere.  On the far wall was a row of bookshelves, and a couple of comfortable looking winged back chairs.  It had the distinct aura of an English 'gentleman's club', O'Brien noted, and he wondered if there was any chance there just might be a pub nearby when he remembered, with a sense of intense disappointment, that they were in an addictions clinic.

"This place never changes," Enabran said, his eyes traveling over the bland wallpaper and the bubbles of soft, soothing light.  In a corner, strangely garish against the backdrop of beige, was a brightly colored canteen stand, the words 'Yamizza' and 'Sweets' in bold pink and blue lettering. 

"That reminds me," Enabran said as he hurried over to the canteen.  The operator of the stand was buried in its small refrigerator, digging out some not-so-fresh ingredients.  Enabran poked the small man on the shoulder, and he bolted upright, eager to serve his customer. 

 A familiar face greeted him warmly.

"Enabran!" Rom exclaimed.  "You're back!"

"Of course," Enabran replied with pride, "and this time I just might stay a while longer."  He pulled out a large wad of latinum strips.  "I've been procuring my needs with freebies as of late," Enabran explained to the dumbfounded Rom, "so money hasn't exactly been running through my pockets like it usually does with its many capitalist hooved feet.  Here, two whole strips.  Now, make me the biggest, gooiest, sickeningly sweetest chocolate sundae you can, with all the peanuts and crap on it like he likes..."

"Oh, how nice, Dr. Garak is here with you, " he looked around the docking bay nervously.  "His, uh, 'other half' isn't with him, is he?"

"You mean the little virus he married? No, he isn't, which is why I'm giving him such a deserved treat." 

 He picked up the huge bowl and brought it over to Garak eagerly.

"Here boy, just like the one I promised you at the Replimat, only this one isn't replicated.  It's the real thing."

 Garak took the bowl gingerly into his hands, the cold seeping through the glass numbing his arm.

"Father, I..."

"Oh, that is so sweet," Kira said, clutching a hand to her heart.

 Garak looked around the docking bay with a little embarrassment.  "Father, where am I going to eat this?"

 Enabran shrugged, "Just carry it with you."

"I.." Garak wanted to protest this, but it was his father's wish.  He held the bowl in front of him, ice cream dripping onto the sleeve of his new suit.

"Here, give me some," Kira said, grabbing the spoon  that was buried in cream and taking a huge, devouring scoop.  "Oh wow," she said, her mouth plastered with whipped cream and cake crumbs, "it's got strawberry cake in it and everything.  I got to get one of these."

"You can help me eat this one," Garak said with strain, realizing that unless he grew an extra arm he wasn't about to get any of the sundae.  Not that he really wanted it anyway, he wasn't a big fan of dairy products.

"This is so good," Kira said again, as she dipped the spoon back in, "you sure you don't want any?"

"Well, I..."

"Elim can't eat it if he's holding it, " Enabran said to her, giving Garak a sly, sidelong glance, "why don't you just feed some to him?"

 Garak nearly dropped the bowl in shock.  'Feed some to him' indeed, Enabran was lucky that Kira didn't recognize how he was trying to play matchmaker.

"I don't need any," Garak replied quickly, giving his father a deadly stare. Enabran shrugged.

"You're a very nice young woman, Ms. Kira, " Enabran said to her, "it's a pity my son didn't meet you before he met that hormonal horror."

"Dr. Bashir is a good friend of mine," O'Brien replied hotly, "and I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about him that way." O'Brien frowned, "Then again, I did meet his counterpart once, the one you're basing him on." His frown deepened into remembered anger, "Yeah, he was a bit of a prick alright.  He busted the bathtub in his quarters, how he managed to do that I'll never know."

"I have a few ideas," Kira said, digging her spoon once again into the mound of ice-cream, "Ooo, yummy, I'm getting to the chocolate part.  Ooooo, brownies...."

<ahem> "Enabran Tain and..family?" a familiar voice crooned behind Kira's back.  She turned around to see Tom Riker standing in front of her, and she grinned impishly and grabbed him in a fierce hug.

"Tom!" she exclaimed, "This is great, now we don't even have to look for you!"

 He gently disengaged her embrace, noting with a small amount of disgust that she had smeared chocolate all over his coaching uniform.  He smiled with uncertainty at her, this lovely young Bajoran woman, her face dirty from whipped cream and brownie crumbs stuck to her cheeks.

"Kira?" he asked, not quite believing his eyes.

"Who else would it be," she said to him, her mouth still chewing brownies, "I came back to rescue you, as promised."

***

 Father Damar viewed Enabran's 'family' with no small sense of unease.  Enabran had always been a thorn in the side of the clinic, and he wasn't exactly eager to have him back.  He was going to suggest another, more distant, place for Enabran and his toxic wasteland of a body.

 The young woman who had claimed she was his adoptive daughter was clutching her stomach and groaning, her face turning several shades of green.

"Are you alright?" Father Damar asked her, his face etched with worry.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said with a strained voice, "I think the whipped cream was a little off."

"Maybe you're lactose intolerant," O'Brien suggested, "I am too.  There's an enzyme in dairy products that makes some people sick."

 Kira glared at him.  "Oh, great, you tell me that now.  Thanks a lot."

"It could be that," Garak said, "or it could be because you ate the entire thing.  It was a very large bowl."

 Kira groaned anew, remembering.  "But it was sooooo good..."
 

 Outside, in the hall, Tom Riker was having his usual banter with Enabran Tain.  Out of all of the regular tenants, Enabran had been the one man who Riker felt any kind of genuine connection with, probably because Enabran was a lot older than most of the people who were admitted, and also probably because he was just as brash and tough as Tom.

"So you killed them all with a giant squid, huh?"

"Apparently," Enabran replied, "but I'm not sure how the fire started.  That might have been my lawyer, God rest his soul.  He's probably been all dried and crucified by now, poor bugger."

"Speaking of which," Tom said, "you don't seem entirely your usual delusional self.  What's going on?"

"I'll tell you a part of my master plan," Enabran said to Tom conspiratorially.  He peered down the corridor, and then motioned for Tom to come close so he could whisper his top secret plans into Tom's ear.

"I'm only going to tell you once.  I'm cleaning up."

 Riker bolted upright and stared at Enabran half-believing him, but his shock quickly turned to laughter.

"Ha, good one Enabran."

 Enabran chuckled with him, "Yeah, not bad, if I can say so."

 Tom patted the elderly Cardassian jovially on the back, "Come on, you old soak, we'll get your quarters set up for you."  He looked down at Enabran's feet as they walked and Riker frowned.

"Hey Enabran, " Riker said, "what happened to your shoe?"

"Lost forever," Enabran replied, "so I can be found."  He cleared his throat loudly, the inside of his mouth was as dry as a desiccated insect.

"Better make sure there's comfortable walls, "Enabran said about his room, "I got a feeling my next few days are going to be a tornado of my molecular structure, swirling about the blandness of this place in rather colorful adaptations of my last meal."

***
 Tom Riker entered Father Damar's office and nodded hello to Kira who was still moaning over the pains in her stomach. 

"You wanted to see me, Father?" 

"Yes, have a seat, " he gestured beside Kira.  "Ms. Kira has explained to me that the two of you have met before."

 Tom smiled uncertainly back at Kira, "It was a while ago..."

"You stole a ship?" Father Damar asked, peering at him.

 Tom Riker cleared his throat, "Well, <ahem>, it was a while ago, and we were kind of having a skirmish..."

"The Maquis," Father Damar interrupted, picking up a PADD off his desk, "apparently some sort of terrorist movement."  He tossed it back down on the desk and sighed, looking at Tom with sympathetic grace.  "Why didn't you tell us about this?  It also says here that you spent over seven years all alone on a planet after a shuttlecraft accident.  That couldn't have been easy."

"No," Tom said, wondering where all this was leading, "it wasn't."

 Father Damar sighed, "Tom, we could have given you some counseling," he offered, "in fact, we still can.  That is, if you're willing to stay."

 Tom brightened a little at this.  "You mean, you won't fire me?"

"Tom, much as you annoy the tenants, you are a part of our team now.  You're family.  You aren't a good counselor, or gym coach, but maybe we could find a place for you in the cafeteria."

"Really?" Tom said, excited.  He jumped from his seat and grabbed Father Damar in a fierce hug and the Cardassian priest was a little disconcerted by the sudden display of open affection from the usually brash Tom Riker.  "Thank you!  You won't regret this, I'm a great cook!"

 O'Brien grunted behind him.

"Yes?" Tom asked.

"I guess this means you don't want to go back to your own universe?" O'Brien asked.

 Tom made a face.  "Of course not.  I have a meaningful life here."

"Working in a cafeteria?" Kira asked.

"Yeah," Tom said, dreamily, "this is going to be great."

***
EPILOGUE

 Garak's legs dangled over the edge of the bridge and he peered into the quiet, small river expectantly.  He was barefoot, and had rolled up the cuffs of his pants due to his earlier explorations along the river's shoreline.  A crayfish had tickled his toes as it clamored over his foot, and Garak had yelped and pulled his foot away, unsure of whether or not this particular creature would bite.

 Now, sitting safely on the bridge, Garak watched the rippling water intently, pulling up the line every now and then as Enabran--as his father--instructed.

"Not too jerky with the line, Elim," Enabran said, "you don't want to scare them away."

 He swung the pole behind him, and then before him, casting the lure in a perfect arc into the water.  It sank with a small splash, and almost instantly the line began to release.

"Heh heh, I got one, son!" Enabran exclaimed.  He pulled on the line and strained with it, letting out just enough tension as he reeled his catch in so as not to lose it.  With a mighty tug, he gave it one last heave and...

 Out of the water came a one pound catfish.

"Hm, the pickings aren't very good today, " Enabran noted, "I guess we can throw this little guppy back." He eyed the wide mouthed fish, it's orifice making large sucking motions in the air, "He's probably a close relative of that husband of yours anyway."

"I don't think Dr. Bashir would think very kindly on that analogy," Garak said, "but I have to admit, it does look a little like my father in law."

 Enabran tossed the catfish back into the water, and it darted away, no doubt off to call Julian and tell him his father in law by proxy tried to kill him.

"You know son," Enabran said, "these little trips you suggested are just the kind of thing we need.  Nothing like visiting another universe once in a while, especially when I don't need vibrant chemicals to get me there.  And this little chunk of your universe is really a salve to the oft' confused mind.  To place ourselves amongst the proliferation of the spirit.  Sit in God's armpit, you know?"

"I think so," Garak replied.  His fishing line sprang into life and he pulled on the pole eagerly. 

"Now son, make sure you let out a little line..."

 Garak struggled with the pole.  Whatever was on the line was a lot larger than a one pound catfish.  He pulled it back, as he had seen his father do before, and on the third, aching, pull, the hooked captive burst from the water and fell neatly onto the deck.

 Both Garak and his father viewed the creature with a sense of confusion.

"That's not what I was expecting," Garak said to it, "I thought they weren't indigenous to the swamp."

"Huh." Enabran replied, scratching the back of his head, "I could have sworn they needed salt water."

 Writhing on the deck, and rolling grotesquely, was a red, five pound squid.

"Must be a glitch," Garak said.  "Computer, eliminate 'squids' from the New Orleans Fishing On the River program."

<unable to comply.  New Orleans data banks are experiencing server errors.>

"Never mind, son," Enabran said to him, "why don't we go to the Replimat and get one of those sundaes. Put all that chocolate and peanuts and crap on it, the way you like."

"I'm afraid Colonel Kira had them taken off of the menu list," Garak reminded him, "and after seeing it the way I did on our return trip here, I'm not very keen on them anymore."

"Hm, I guess not," Enabran agreed.  "Tell you what, next time you come and visit me, I'll get Tom Riker to make you his specialty--Cod liver cakes."

"It sounds delicious."

"It is."

END.