The Circle in the Spiral, Part II

[dark_sinestra]

 

Garak

Holding Cell

 

Looking over the detailed questionnaire the Bajorans had prepared for speakers at the conference had Garak thinking twice about agreeing to do this. Did they honestly expect that he would answer most of these, that any Cardassian would? He made an impatient noise and started filling it out. “Name,” he said aloud. “Easy enough. Elim Garak. Race? Cardassian. Birthplace...” He rolled his eyes, tempted to put “Andor” just to see what they would do about it. “Cardassia Prime. If you expect more detail, too bad,” he muttered.

 

He lied about his age and birth date, as though any of them would know the difference. “Time in Bajoran territory during the occupation, years, months, days, or other. Well, if that isn't loaded phrasing, what is?” he snorted. “During the occupation, it was Cardassian territory.” He decided to enter that as his answer. They claimed they wanted a dispassionate, unbiased view? The least they could do would be to have the forms reflect reality.

 

“Position or occupation during the occupation.” After giving it a little thought, he went with his standard story. “Tailor to the troops stationed on Terok Nor. If Cardassian, did you ever have contact with Bajorans during the occupation? If so, briefly detail the nature of the contact. Mended torn clothing as requested by the Prefect.”

 

He skimmed down the rest of the questions, finding the phrasing and the questions themselves to be quite loaded. Many times he indicated such in his answers, and when he finished, he set the PADD aside, annoyed and out of sorts. This was probably a mistake and a waste of time. If it weren't for the fact that it meant he'd be on a planet, even for a little while, and away from the ever shrinking walls of Deep Space Nine, he'd be tempted to tell Rom he changed his mind and to forget the whole thing. Leeta could just get over being disappointed.

 

They didn't want the truth. Nobody ever seemed willing to face truth, and yet so many claimed to value it above all else. What was truth but an excuse to state something hurtful no one would believe anyway? Conquest was the nature of life. The Federation spread destruction wherever it roamed, every planet colonized and terraformed that had some form of life, just not sentient life, was a story of species destruction and the wrecking of a delicate ecosystem. They presented their ideas and ideals as the pinnacle of sentient thought. Those who disagreed or actively fought against being absorbed into the machine were marginalized and criminalized.

 

Take the Maquis. He knew what his people did to those they saw as invaders of their territory. With the flourish of a pen and the signing of a treaty, the Federation abandoned their own citizens to the depredations of Cardassians hungry for new territory and resources. They expected the colonists to pick up and resettle wherever they decided to put them. For a people so quick to spout terminology such as freedom of choice and rights, it was a heavy handed way to deal with a problem, a Cardassian way to deal with it. They set aside their ideals whenever it was convenient only to pick them up and wield them with self-righteousness as soon as they were faced with differing viewpoints. Bajor itself, the new darling of the courted fold, would have been abandoned had they pushed forward with their pursuit of a return to the caste system.

 

The worst part of it was that so few of them managed to see their own hypocrisy, even supposedly intelligent people such as Julian. He lay back on his bunk and laced his fingers over his midriff. There was no denying there was less of him in this place than when they put him here. He could feel the difference. This was kind captivity. They didn't kill one all at once, instead whittling away piece by piece with boredom and ennui.

 

What he thought didn't matter to them. He knew that. He also knew that what he thought and said wouldn't make one whit of difference at this supposedly unbiased conference. He'd go just the same, speak his mind, and if they didn't care to hear it, what did it matter? They were on the verge of accepting a new sort of invasion. See how well it sat with them the moment the Federation began interfering with their self-rule, indoctrinating their children with some sort of unified alliance ideals, telling them their religion was backwards and outdated, that the sooner they accepted their Prophets as wormhole aliens, the better. They could watch their culture wither away and die while their bellies stayed full, and they lived out long lives with less meaning than they might have once had.

 

A light scent wafted to him. He sat up immediately. He knew that scent. Edosian orchid. He gasped sharply and held his breath. Considering his heart didn't stop, he realized that if he was indeed smelling an orchid, it hadn't been hybridized in the way that would produce spores that were one of the deadliest toxins known in the Alpha Quadrant. He exhaled slowly and heard a brush of shoe over carpet in the corridor beyond the forcefield. “Hello?” he called. “Who's there?”

 

The scent came to him again, sharper and sun drenched. It was the scent of the Tarlak Sector at noon. With it was a faint underpinning of mulch and fertilizer. He froze in place, his breathing quickening. This isn't possible, he thought. I must be asleep. He performed the mental exercise he had learned as an operative to awaken himself from an unwanted dream, but nothing happened. He was still seated on his bunk. That odor was still pervasive in his cell, and another soft sound came to him from the corridor beyond his line of sight.

 

“Guard!” he called loudly, standing and approaching the slight shimmer of energy. “Guard! There's an intruder here!”

 

“Is that any way to speak of your father?” a voice he'd recognize until the day he died said. He saw a shadow fall across the floor in front of his cell, and he quickly leaped back, putting as much distance between himself and the forcefield as he could. His back hit the wall.

 

“You can't be here. You're not my father. You're my uncle, you're a liar, and you're dead,” he said sharply.

 

“Such narrow definitions, Elim,” the voice said gently. “Through Astraea much is possible. Come now, is this any way to treat someone who loves you?” The figure stepped into view, and Garak screamed.

 

“Garak! Garak!” Odo's strong voice cut through his confusion. Where was he? At first he couldn't tell if he was lying down or standing up. He clutched Odo's hands so fiercely the security chief winced and cried out. “You're all right,” the man said, blue eyes intensely worried. “No one is going to hurt you. Do you know who I am?”

 

“Of course I do,” he snapped, terrified and furious because of it. He released the man's hands abruptly. He was lying down. He could tell that now, on the floor, not his bunk. He tried to sit up. Odo stopped him with a hand to his chest.

 

“Give yourself a minute,” he said.

 

“He should be feeling the effect of the mild sedative I gave him now,” Nurse Frendel's voice came from somewhere behind Odo.

 

“No sedatives,” he said, shaking his head, afraid all over again for a different reason. “The dreams...” He fought to hold to consciousness, reality as he chose to experience it, not that temporary madness that almost sent him clawing from his own skin. “What happened?” He sought Odo's gaze desperately and held it.

 

“I was hoping you'd tell me,” Odo said, squeezing his shoulder. “Ms. Trevana said she heard you screaming. When she came to see what was wrong, she said it looked as though you were having a seizure. She dropped the security field and summoned Nurse Frendel.”

 

His guard's face appeared over Odo's shoulder. “You kept screaming, 'This isn't real,'” she said. “I thought you were going to break your own head open on the floor. I couldn't stop you from thrashing.”

 

“Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” Frendel asked, still scanning him with his tricorder.

 

“No, never,” he said. Seizure? He supposed it was possible. Julian had said on several occasions that he didn't know what lingering effects his implant might have. Perhaps he had simply had a neural misfire across scar tissue.

 

“Has he had any unusual visitors?” Odo asked the guard, Trevana.

 

“No. Just his usual two, Ziyal and Chalan, and Rom came by twice, once just to drop off a PADD.”

 

“Was there something strange on the PADD?” Odo asked Garak.

 

“Sir,” Frendel cut in, “he's having some really unusual neurotransmitter fluctuations. I'd like to get him into the infirmary and get his vitals and brain activity stabilized. You can question him more after he has had a chance to rest.”

 

“All right,” Odo said.

 

Garak grabbed his arm, sudden, unreasoning fear making him want a face he trusted in reach. “Don't let him,” he said.

 

“Don't let him what?” Odo asked carefully.

 

“He's Bajoran!” he said through gritted teeth. Why was he having such a hard time expressing himself?

 

Frowning uncertainly, Odo glanced at Frendel. “Maybe you should let me stay with him for a while,” he said. “I won't question him, but it might calm him.”

 

“That's probably a good idea,” Frendel conceded. He tapped his comm badge. “Ops, three to beam to the infirmary, Authorization medical, Frendel code two alpha.”

 

“Confirmed,” came Kira's voice. “Prepare to beam.”

 

Garak relaxed slightly once they were away from the cell, if only because it put distance between him and his highly disturbing experience. He allowed the staff to change him into a hospital gown and get him settled on a biobed. He wasn't fully in control of his limbs. Frendel assured him it was most likely due to a somewhat adverse reaction to the sedative but intended to perform more tests.

 

They brought in a chair for Odo and worked around him. Garak did his best to ignore the scans, poking, and prodding, and focus instead on the man's quiet presence. At any moment, he feared a return to that nightmare reality. The worst part of all was how very normal Tolan Garak looked, as though he had just come in from a full day's work, ready for some of Mila's mediocre sem'hal stew and to regale them both with tales of overheard gossip and anything else interesting that might have graced his day.

 

“This is...odd,” Frendel said, glancing over at Garak.

 

“What?” he asked. Odo's posture shifted. He was interested to hear this, too.

 

“I'm not sure how to explain it yet, but your neurochemistry is almost identical to that of someone who has been recently exposed to an orb,” he said, frowning.

 

“That's impossible,” Odo said. “I can guarantee he hasn't been out of that cell except for his injections, and if Ms. Trevana says no one unusual has been to see him, then no one unusual has been to see him.”

 

“I believe you,” Frendel said. “Which just makes this that much stranger.”

 

You have no idea how strange, Garak thought grimly.

 

Julian

Risa

 

On their way to find something to eat, Julian and Alyrrha noticed a fairly large crowd gathering and murmuring. “What's going on over there?” he asked.

 

“Oh,” she said, rolling her eyes, “it's probably another one of Pascal Fullerton's harangues.”

 

Intrigued, he stopped walking. “Who's Pascal Fullerton?”

 

“The leader of some crazy moral movement. They call themselves the New Essentialists. They seem to think we're all evil and set to doom the entire Federation to destruction. If you want to hear some of his idiocy, we can head over there. I recommend against it.”

 

“Do you mind?” he asked.

 

Shaking her head, she nestled herself against his side and guided his arm in a drape over her shoulders. “I don't mind. Just don't blame me when he bores you to tears.”

 

Smiling, he squeezed her and walked with her to find a place in the group. The two settled on a lounge chair. As he looked around at all the faces, he saw Dax and Worf in the crowd, Worf not surprisingly still in his uniform. He had a few uncharitable thoughts about the man and his prune juice before turning to Alyrrha again. “I see some of my friends over there,” he said. “Would you like to come meet them?”

 

“I'm really hungry,” she said apologetically. “Maybe later? You know where I live. You're welcome to come find me. Where are you staying?”

 

He gave her the name of his hotel and leaned in to give her a lingering kiss. “I'll take you up on that,” he said. “You haven't seen the last of me.” He realized that he missed the arrival of the man in question and hurried to join his friends before the speech could progress far. Alyrrha had been right. The man was a pompous, pedantic windbag. He found it difficult to believe that he truly espoused any of the things he was spouting, that the Federation was somehow morally compromised because of places like Risa. Dax seemed as unimpressed as he was. Worf was a different matter. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the Klingon listening. What does she see in him? he wondered, glancing back at Dax.

 

After Fullerton ended the speech, a few people, including Worf, stepped forward to speak to him more in depth. Dax shook her head and turned away from the spectacle. “Julian,” she said, “allow me to introduce you to someone.” She indicated a very attractive woman with mocha skin and striking gray eyes. “This is Arandis, an old, dear friend of Curzon's and the Chief Facilitator for the Temtibi Lagoon. Arandis, this is one of my best friends, Julian. He's our CMO for Deep Space Nine.”

 

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” he said, smiling warmly. “And may I say that I've been enjoying myself thoroughly ever since I arrived? You do a wonderful job here. You should be proud.”

 

“The pleasure is all mine, Doctor,” the woman said, squeezing his hand warmly and smiling. “Thank you for your kind words.” She released him and glanced at Dax. “I hate to run, but people always get stirred up after one of Fullerton's shows. I need to go do a little damage control.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” Dax said. “I'm sure I'll catch up with you later.” She watched her go and turned back to Julian. “Did you mean it? You've been having a good time?” she asked mischievously.

 

“Yes,” he said, “a very good time, but I'm famished.”

 

“One thing there's never a shortage of on Risa is food,” Dax said, hooking an arm in his and guiding him with her toward their hotel. “I'm sure we can find something to your liking. I wouldn't mind getting something to eat, myself.”

 

“Are you having fun?” he asked, somehow doubting it.

 

“Trying to,” she said a little ruefully. “I wish Worf would loosen up and relax. Ever since that idiot Fullerton gave him a PADD outlining his organization's beliefs, he's had his nose buried in it. I don't understand it. Most Klingons I've met might be serious when it's needed, but they all know how to have a good time. I know that has to be buried somewhere inside him. We have to find a way to draw it out.”

 

“We?” he asked, chuffing a laugh. “Oh, no. That's all on you. I'm here to have a good time. I'm afraid that doesn't include cajoling Worf into a better mood.”

 

They passed into the cool interior of the hotel and branched out of the lobby toward the dining area. A pleasantly smiling hostess greeted them. “How many this evening?” she asked.

 

“Two for now,” Dax said. “There may be a Klingon and a Bajoran joining us later. Possibly a Ferengi, too. If they ask either for Jadzia Dax or Julian Bashir, could you be sure they get directed our way?”

 

“Gladly,” the woman said. “Right this way.” She led them to one of several semi-private alcove rooms with a low table and cushions for leaning. “An attendant will be with you shortly.” She left them with another smile.

 

Julian watched her go then selected a leaning cushion and settled in. “You know what I love about this place?”

 

“What?” Dax asked, also getting settled.

 

“Everything,” he said with a wide grin.

 

“Well, I'm glad you came,” she said. She seemed on the verge of asking him something then changed her mind. “I hope Worf doesn't spend half the evening talking with those sticks in the mud. I was hoping to take a night swim. I hear the water is bioluminescent.”

 

They were brought menus and a selection of refreshing juices, teas, and cold, clean water in sweating metal pitchers. They had just ordered when Worf finally came to join them. Julian felt some of his habitual tension return. He realized that it was partially his fault. He was the one who thought it would be a good idea to hitch a ride with Dax and Worf, and he was too polite and too close to Dax to be able to avoid them the entire trip. Worf didn't make matters any better, immediately launching into a subject he had heard more than enough of from Fullerton. “I am disappointed in both of you,” Worf said, taking his seat. “As Starfleet officers, we should always be open to hearing out viewpoints that may be unpopular but that are sensible.”

 

“Sensible?” Dax snorted. “There's nothing sensible about ruining people's vacations. We're not Borg. We all do much better when we have some downtime now and then.”

 

“She's right,” Julian said. “A body and mind constantly stressed breaks down. Immune function, cognitive function, reflexes, all suffer when one doesn't disengage from work and pursue other interests.”

 

“Meditation and exercise are adequate release from stress, Doctor,” Worf said. “Self-indulgence and lack of self-control alter opinions of one unfavorably.”

 

Julian wondered at the thick disapproval in Worf's tone. It seemed almost personal. “I haven't seen any uncontrolled displays here on Risa,” he said. “All I see are smiling, relaxed people enjoying the beautiful surroundings and each other's company.”

 

“Is that what you call it?” Worf asked.

 

Dax put a hand on his arm and shot him a warning look. “Why don't you look over the menu and decide what you want to eat?” she suggested. “Julian and I have already ordered.” As Worf lifted the menu, she gave Julian an apologetic look.

 

He sipped his fizzy, slightly fermented juice and offered her a tight half smile. He wondered if he'd be able to tolerate the Klingon's company long enough to get through his meal. Note to self. Don't vacation with anyone you don't positively want to be stuck with for days on end, he thought.

 

Worf placed his order and immediately launched into more lecturing. “The Federation has allowed itself to become a fat, tempting target over time. Do you think it is any coincidence that we are constantly engaged in border skirmishes or that my people have decided to turn their backs on a historic agreement and return to the old ways?”

 

Julian arched a brow at Dax who pretended to take great interest in the tiny umbrella in her glass. He sighed. “No, it's not a coincidence. The border skirmishes in which we are engaged, and have been for decades I might add, are with races that are notoriously territorial, such as the Tholians and the Tzenkethi. If it wasn't us bumping up against them, it would be someone else. The Romulans have also had issues with these races. They're hardly what I'd call fat targets or self-indulgent. You know as well as I that the reason for the current hostilities with your people is changeling infiltration.”

 

“No changeling could have persuaded my people to break a treaty had there not been...flaws...to exploit,” he countered.

 

“Excuse me for a moment, will you? I need to take a trip to the refresher,” he said, standing fluidly. He was becoming annoyed enough to say something impolitic and felt a break from the situation would help him cool down. He walked through the rest of the dining area, noticing that the light coming through the windows was the deep blue of dusk. He wondered if it would be too late to go find Alyrrha and explore some of the night clubs he had heard so much about. It had been ages since he had been dancing.

 

Once in the spacious, well appointed refresher, he took his time, splashing his face, washing his hands and forearms, and testing out a few of the scented oils and lotions until he found the one he liked the best. Scent had the power to calm and relax. He felt more at ease when he returned to their dining alcove and discovered the food had arrived. For a while, all three of them were blessedly silent while they ate. He was so hungry by that time it was a wonder he didn't choke himself on the decadently delicious food. He had to keep reminding himself to chew and taste it.

 

Worf picked up a plump, orange-ish fruit with tiny green stripes and eyed it as though it were symptomatic of all that he saw wrong with the world. “Any civilization that indulges in the excesses of worlds like Risa perhaps deserves whatever comes to it,” he pronounced with finality.

 

“Worf, you can't be serious,” he said, extremely irritated at Dax for just sitting there without saying a word. She had to find all of this talk as outrageous as he did, and since when was she a church mouse?

 

He continued in the same vein, once more bringing up the Klingon conflict. Before things could get more heated, Leeta joined them. He was happy to see her. She was a breath of fresh air in the increasingly stale, hostile environment. As she sat beside him, he noticed both Worf and Dax seemed uncomfortable. What was wrong with those two? It came to a head unexpectedly, the stern officer accusing them of dishonoring each other.

 

It dawned on him that they never explained why they had come to Risa. He had become so used to keeping their separation a secret that it hadn't occurred to him to say anything. He quickly explained about the Rite of Separation, and Leeta filled in the details. By mutual accord of a glance alone, they made the joint decision to leave Dax and Worf to their own unpleasant company. They excused themselves and escaped from one of the side exits into slightly humid, perfumed air, some night blooming flowers lending their heady fragrance to the already lush melange.

 

“Poor Dax,” Leeta said, hugging his arm with both of hers and starting across the lawn with him. “Has he been acting like that all day?”

 

“I don't know about all day,” he said, “but he has ever since I ran into them a little earlier. I'm having a hard time feeling sorry for her. She's just sitting there tolerating it, letting him say the most outrageous and ridiculous things without so much as a peep of a challenge.”

 

“Sometimes when you love someone, you tolerate all sorts of things you never could see yourself accepting before,” she said gently.

 

Grudgingly, he had to admit that was so. He had tolerated so many things from Garak that coming from anyone else would have driven him away for good. “Did you mean what you said in there, about my not being completely out of your system?”

 

She bit her lip before hesitantly nodding. “Maybe it's this place, or maybe it's what we're here for. What about you? Do you want to do this?”

 

Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her, a deep, languid kiss that felt completely right in that moment. “Yes,” he murmured against her parted lips, “but not in the hotel. Let's go get in the water.”

 

She smiled, her dark eyes catching starlight, and nodded, this time without any hesitation at all. As they laced their fingers together and ran laughing over the lawn, one of Risa's two moons crested the horizon, large and honey amber in the star bright sky. Julian felt nothing but joy and anticipation. There truly was much wisdom in ancient Bajoran ways.

 

Garak

The Infirmary

 

Ziyal read Preloc well, managing formal Kardasi with ease and aplomb. Garak listened to her with his eyes shut, focusing on the vivid imagery conjured with such skill by a writer at the pinnacle of his distinguished career. The young woman had hardly left his side since discovering he was there. He hadn't told her what had happened to him, and she hadn't asked. For once he was completely glad of the attentiveness. He worried tremendously that if left to his own devices, he might have another hallucination. He could hear subtle strain in her voice and realized that she had been reading for well over an hour.

 

“I think that's enough for now,” he said, opening his eyes and smiling at her gratefully.

 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I'd be happy to keep going.”

 

“I'm positive. Too much of a good thing,” he said.

 

She set the PADD aside and scooted her chair closer so that she could take his hand. “I'm surprised you haven't run me off by now,” she said. “I can sometimes tell you'd rather be alone.” She stroked gentle fingers over the back of his hand. “This time it seems like...it seems like you'd rather not be. If you want to talk about what happened, I think you know not only would I be understanding, I'd be discreet.”

 

“If I understood what happened, I might be tempted to take you up on your offer,” he said. “However, Nurse Frendel doesn't have a clue. With Doctor Bashir away on vacation, I'm stuck here until he can get back and study the work up they've done on me so far. Until Starfleet sees fit to send in more doctors, this is what we're given.”

 

She nodded. Her slender hands were warm to his skin, a comforting presence, an anchor to reality. He carefully worked his fingers between hers and squeezed gently. “I know there are bound to be things you need to do. I feel guilty taking up all of your time.”

 

She kept her gaze on their hands as she answered. “What I know is that if you truly wanted me to leave, you'd tell me to leave. You haven't done that, which means you'd really prefer I stay, only you're too proud to come out and say it. You've been there for me whenever I've needed you, no matter how late it was or how inconvenient. Now I'm here for you. It's what friends do.”

 

“You're so dear,” he said quietly. “Having you here has been like having a piece of home.”

 

“Even though my mother was Bajoran?” she asked.

 

He snorted a very soft laugh. “Do you think that matters to me?” he asked.

 

“You've never acted like it does,” she said, hazarding a glance at him. “Sometimes I wonder, though.”

 

He exhaled heavily and reached to cover her clasped hand with his other. “Then let me set your mind at ease for once and for all on that matter. If your mother were here right now, I would tell her that she raised an extraordinary young woman, that she imbued her with admirable values and morals, and that it doesn't matter, Bajoran or Cardassian, anyone would be lucky to call her friend.”

 

Her eyes brightened, and she blinked back tears, looking away quickly. “Wow,” she said, lifting a hand to wipe at her face. “I wasn't expecting that. Mama would've liked you,” she added, nodding. “I think she'd be glad to know I'm close to someone like you. I'm just glad she never had to spend time in that camp. She worried enough about me as it was.”

 

“It's what mothers do,” he said. “They worry.”

 

“Does your mother worry about you?” she asked abruptly.

 

He inhaled slowly, taken off guard by that question. It had been so long since anyone asked him about his family, he hardly knew what to say. “Probably,” he said with a faint smile.

 

“You never speak of your family,” she pressed.

 

“No, I don't,” he said with a finality intended to end that line of questioning.

 

“Family is so important on Cardassia,” she said softly. “I wish things could be different for you. I don't even know what, if anything, went wrong, but I can tell you're not happy most of the time.”

 

“Happier now,” he said. “If you don't mind, I'd like to stop talking for a while.”

 

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, sitting up straighter as though preparing for the departure in advance.

 

“No. I want you to stay. I just don't want to talk. Is that all right?”

 

She nodded and smiled softly. “That's perfectly all right,” she said. “Get some rest if you can. I'll hold your hand so you'll know I'm here. I won't leave you until you ask me to.”

 

As he closed his eyes, he wished that he had the strength to tell her to go. Nothing had shaken him so thoroughly since a disastrous mission to Tzenketh. Her hands on his were the only thing allowing him to consider sleep, and her promise to him the only thing that actually allowed it. When had he so thoroughly trusted another before, and why was it so easy when it came to her? They were questions that would have to wait for another time. Within ten minutes he was deeply asleep and dead to the world.

 

Julian

Risa

 

He didn't know how long he had been staring at his ceiling, and he didn't care. Dull gray light filtered through his windows, the world outside blurred to wavy indistinctness by the sheets of rain blowing against the panes. Lightning flashed again and again, throwing crazy shadows across the smooth dome above him, the rumble of thunder so heavy and low he felt it as a vibration in his chest.

 

He welcomed the miserable, damp, cold weather. He welcomed the black moods he saw before retreating to his room to lie alone atop the bed clothes. They were perfect mirrors of how he felt ever since Leeta's confession after the ceremony, that even before they had broken up, she was drawn to Rom. Rom! Every time he touched the thought, he thought he'd be ill. Had he misread her? Had he only thought she was being kind and understanding when she was just waiting for the right moment to plunge that dagger straight into his gut and twist it for all she was worth? Was this some strange payback for Garak?

 

He turned onto his side and hugged one of the fluffy pillows to his chest. Why had he allowed her to talk him into such a stupid ceremony? It wasn't natural to celebrate breaking things off or to spend time being close with someone one wasn't with any longer. Worf's sabotage of the weather grid and his inability to do anything about it if the Risans refused to press charges infuriated him. He wouldn't have even been here to see it were it not for Leeta's insistence and his guilt at how things ended.

 

Lulled to sleep by the rain and his misery, he awoke suddenly to darkness punctuated by bright, rapid flashes of lightning. He didn't think the lightning had awakened him. His bed shook, his windows rattling in their casements. That rumble wasn't thunder. It was an earthquake! Quickly, he rolled from his bed and braced himself in his arched doorway until the seismic tremble subsided.

 

Confused and frightened people spilled from their rooms into the hallway, some of them crying. “It's all right,” Julian said loudly. “Everything is going to be fine. We need to get out of the hotel, safely and orderly. The nearest exit is that way. Let's go. No running now! Does anyone need assistance?”

 

An elderly gentleman spoke up. “My wife needs some help.”

 

He picked them out in the crowd now filing down the corridor and hurried to their sides. She smiled at him through her concern. “My arthritis has been acting up with the wet,” she said.

 

“We'll get you out of here safely in no time,” he said, giving her support from one side while her husband supported her from the other. Once he had them to the exit, he looked back to see if there were any stragglers or anyone else in need. Seeing the corridor empty, he braced himself and stepped out into the torrential rain. The water stung his skin and blinded him. He sheltered the woman as much as he could with his body and met the rest of the huddled, miserable group on the lawn, away from trees or any structures that could do them harm.

 

“Everyone get down!” he yelled to be heard over the storm. “We're the highest point on this lawn!” Those who could hear him immediately saw the sense in what he was saying and did as they were told, pulling down others further away who didn't know what was going on. They crouched together, the whole lot of them a miserable mass soaking wet and cold in the sodden grass. We have to find shelter, he thought, or some of these people are going to start suffering from hypothermia, but where?

 

As he cast about in the darkness, not familiar enough with the layout to have any immediate ideas, he saw two tall figures approaching, herky-jerky in the strobe effect of the lightning. Worf's strong voice cut through the wind. “It is safe to return to the hotel!” he bellowed. “The seismic disturbances have come to an end. Please, come back inside!”

 

He wasted no time helping people to their feet and guiding them back toward the main entrance and lobby. Once they were all inside, Arandis took charge, finding people towels, blankets, and setting up portable heaters to warm the space. Hot drinks were brought in fairly short order and distributed by helpful Risans. Julian made his own rounds, checking people for signs of shock or injury. Only when he was satisfied that no one needed him did he accept a blanket and drink for himself. Arandis draped the blanket around his shoulders herself and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “I can't tell you how grateful I am for all of your help with our guests.”

 

“I may be on vacation,” he said with a wry smile, “but I'm still a doctor. No thanks necessary.”

 

Still smiling her gratitude, she left him to see to the others. He squatted to his heels and sipped the hot, sweet drink. Maybe it was just as well that he had been there. Although he was fairly sure people would have managed things on their own, he did feel as though he had made a difference. With any luck, the weather would clear up before they had to leave, and he would be able to say a proper good-bye to Alyrrha.

 

USS Rubicon

Heading Deep Space Nine

 

Julian kept his nose buried in a PADD on the way back to the station. He had nothing he wanted to say to any of his fellow passengers. Ironically the person with whom he was usually the most annoyed was the least offensive to him at the moment, and Quark was being unusually quiet, too. A few times he could see from the corners of his eyes that Leeta was trying to catch his gaze. He studiously ignored her. Dax gave up trying to draw him into conversation with her and Worf. Worf seemed self-righteously oblivious that he had anything for which he should be ashamed, and Julian didn't feel like getting into a pointless argument with someone so stiff necked and pig headed as to be unlikely to see reason.

 

You know your vacation was bad when you're looking forward to getting back to work to get away from it, he thought as he pretended to read. If he ever decided to return to Risa, he knew it would be alone. Alyrrha was the one bright spot of the entire trip. Maybe he'd see her again. Maybe he wouldn't. There was something nice about knowing that neither of them had expectations, nor did they have any reason to avoid one another if opportunity struck again down the line.

 

Only when the station was in view did he deign to shut down his PADD and get moving. He retreated to the back and changed out of civilian clothing into his uniform. He wasn't due to return to work until the following day. It wouldn't hurt to get a jump start on everything he missed while away. When he emerged, Dax and Leeta both shot him questioning looks which he ignored. Worf looked vaguely approving, which simply irritated him. Quark's look was more difficult to read. He had the odd impression that the Ferengi understood.

 

“You're not heading straight to work when you get off the runabout, are you?” Dax asked, trying for a teasing tone of voice and not quite succeeding.

 

“Yes, I am,” he said simply and retook his seat.

 

“Julian is very dedicated to his job,” Leeta piped up, probably trying to be conciliatory.

 

He said nothing, turning to monitor the systems that didn't really need monitoring with Worf and Dax piloting and co-piloting. They took the ship in to the runabout pad without incident. The platform descended, and they got the green light to disembark. He had his luggage near to hand, shouldering the strap and leaving the rest of them to their own devices. It was late. Frendel, who had been covering for him while he was gone, probably wouldn't be there. Hopefully, he'd have logs lined up and waiting for him.

 

“Doctor,” one of the night duty nurses said in surprise when he walked through the door, duffel still hanging at his side, “we weren't expecting to see you tonight. How was the trip?”

 

“It was Risa,” he said noncommittally.

 

She seemed to think he was being amusing, giving a soft laugh. “You have a point. Actually, I'm glad you're here tonight.” She stood and approached him. “You should come with me. We have Garak in the back. He has been here almost the entire time you've been gone. Nurse Frendel and the rest of us are stumped. Do you think Starfleet will be sending more doctors soon?”

 

“I don't know. I've put in a request,” he said, not liking what he was hearing. He tucked his bag away under a console and followed her to one of the private rooms.

 

Ziyal was there. She looked up from the PADD from which she had been reading as soon as she saw him. “Julian!” she said, jumping up and giving him a tight hug. “You're back! Oh, I'm so glad you're back. Look, Garak,” she said, beaming and turning as though he couldn't see him with his own eyes, “it's Julian!”

 

“I see that, dear,” the tailor said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

 

“I'm going to go,” she said, hurrying back to Garak and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You two have a lot of catching up to do. I'll be back tomorrow.”

 

He smiled at her as she passed him, his smile fading when he looked back to Garak. “What happened?” he asked.

 

“I'll go get his chart,” the nurse said, leaving the two of them alone for the time being.

 

“Why don't you study the chart first,” Garak suggested. “Then we can talk.”

 

“All right,” he agreed. He took the PADD from the nurse when she brought it and leaned in the doorway, skimming at first then frowning and taking a closer look. “I don't understand this,” he said, looking back to Garak. “You're certain you weren't exposed to an orb?” he asked.

 

“As certain as I can be,” Garak said. “I think I would remember something like that. Don't you?”

 

“What do you remember?” he asked.

 

“I'd rather not say, if it's all the same to you,” the tailor replied.

 

“It's not all the same to me,” he said, striding over to the bed and leaning in to confront him. “Do you understand? It's not. Your brain chemistry is still imbalanced. A few people who have shown similar readings in the past have had a dangerous buildup of glutamate, leading to seizure and then death. I see here that the guard who discovered something was wrong found you in the midst of a violent seizure. Damn it, Garak, I've given a lot of leeway in the past with you about treatment, but I am not going to let you die, not on my watch, so tell me what you remember.”

 

“Before I do...I have a favor to ask,” he said with such a determined look that Julian knew the Cardassian was very likely about to get his way.



 

Comments

[deeply-spaced.livejournal.com]

I thoroughly enjoyed Garak filling out the questionnaire. That was sweet! I was laughing out loud. I'm worried about Garak. What a freaky thing to have happen. The Further Adventures of Julian on Risa were awesome, even if he didn't have a good time at the end of the trip, thanks again to the Lone Klingon of the Apocalypse. I LOVED it and laughed rather loudly when he ignored everyone on the runabout. That is so totally Julian.

Yeah, Garak seems to be in deep doo-doo. I'm on the edge of my seat!

[dark-sinestra.livejournal.com]

Garak was being pissy as only he can about that questionnaire.

Your name for Worf had me laughing. It was apropos of that episode, for sure. I thought you might get a kick of pouty Julian in the runabout.

What IS going on with Garak? Dun, dun, duuuuuunnnn!