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dark_sinestra) wrote2010-07-26 04:46 am
- bajor,
- bajoran,
- bajoran occupation,
- benjamin sisko,
- breen,
- captain sisko,
- cardassia,
- cardassian,
- cardassians,
- dax,
- deep space nine,
- doctor bashir,
- doctor julian bashir,
- dominion,
- dr. bashir,
- dr. julian bashir,
- ds9,
- elim garak,
- enabran tain,
- fanfic,
- fic,
- garak,
- garak/bashir,
- garak/julian,
- general martok,
- jadzia dax,
- jem'hadar,
- klingon,
- klingons,
- martok,
- occupation,
- odo,
- romulan,
- romulans,
- sci fi,
- sisko,
- slash,
- star trek,
- tain
The Path of Most Resistance Part III, Conclusion
Brilliant, he thought to himself. Way to fall right into the worst possible pattern you could. You need these people, and they need you, whether they realize it fully or not. “Are you two crew mates?” he asked Sela.
She arched a brow, not unlike the Vulcan scientist. “Why, exactly, do you need to know that?” she asked, not giving him a chance to answer. “You don't. Don't ask questions for which you don't need the answers. It's not a healthy habit in this place, even if you are a doctor.”
“Help me with the panel,” Martok said, gesturing to Julian. “We don't have much time. Wait at least ten minutes until after I've left before removing it again, and then you can come to the arena. Whatever you do, don't interfere.”
He glared so hard that Julian knew he had no choice but to agree. If the Jem'Hadar didn't decide to kill him for interference, he felt almost certain Martok would. “You have my word,” he said.
“We'll see what that's worth,” the general growled. Together, they hefted the heavy wall panel back into place and tapped it down. Martok concealed the pry tool beneath a thin excuse of a blanket after showing Julian how to use it for when it was time to open the hatch again. A few moments later, two Jem'Hadar arrived to take Martok away. They looked eager, too eager for Julian's liking. Martok may have been extremely tough and resilient. He was still flesh. He had limits, and from the looks of him he was dangerously close to reaching them.
“One day he won't come back,” Sela said.
He wondered if he detected a faint note of regret in her tone. “Let's hope that's not today,” he said grimly. “Will you at least tell me how long you've been here?”
“You humans and your idiotic need for bonding,” she scoffed. “What difference does it make if it has been two months or two years? I've combed every inch of this facility. There's no way out, no way other than what Tain has figured out. Stop asking pointless questions.”
He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his tangled hair. His bunk mates were going to drive him insane if he couldn't figure out some way to relate to them. “You're right,” he said. “Humans do have a need to bond. All of us should be at our best given the circumstances, right? You want me to be able to help Tain, keep him alive, patch up Martok...deal with all of this? Then I'm going to need help. I'm going to need to feel like I'm not completely alone and like the rest of you aren't going to stab me in the back the first chance you get if it looks like we have a way out of here. Do you think that's pointless, too?”
Keeping most of her attention on the window in their barracks door, she shot him a long, assessing look. “I was part of the mission,” she said grudgingly. “Tain's mission. Varal wasn't on my ship, but he was part of it, too. I haven't seen anyone else from my crew. It doesn't mean they aren't here somewhere. No one has seen what's behind those double doors.” She twitched a shrug and turned her full attention back toward the window. “Better?” she asked tightly.
“Much,” he said, feeling a little bit of the tension in him drain. “Thank you, Sela.” He waited what he thought was approximately ten minutes and pried open the panel. Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, he ducked through the hole and edged toward where he could now hear the stealthy sounds of Tain's work in progress. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Interrupted,” Tain shot back instantly.
“I wouldn't have had to interrupt you had you waited to get started until I came back,” he said, keeping his tone as light as possible.
“I've come this far without you, Doctor Bashir,” the Cardassian said, his words slightly muffled as though he held something between his lips.
“And your condition is progressing, partly because of that. You've worked too hard and too long without medication, rest, adequate food, or water,” he explained.
“I'm sure if you take that up with our captors, they'll eagerly remedy the situation,” the spy master said drolly. “Tell them I've been taking two hundred milligrams of Metrazene and ten grains of Benjisidrine for almost ten years now. While you're at it, ask them for a palm light. It can be a little difficult to see back here at times.”
“I see where Garak gets his sarcasm,” he said, refusing to be provoked.
“Oh, no, Elim's sarcasm is all his own,” Tain said, no longer sounding muffled. “Is there an actual point to this conversation, or are you becoming so enamored of this place already that you'd like to stay longer?”
“I need to check your pulse and your hydration level, and then I'll be more than happy to let you get back to your work,” he said in his best no nonsense tone of voice.
“Unless you can do that while I'm working, that's not going to happen,” Tain said rather flatly.
“I can try,” he said, stepping closer. Although he was able to pinch some skin, try as he might, he couldn't work his fingers into place at Tain's wrist while the man dug at some circuitry with a make-shift tool. Quite suddenly he had the air knocked from him by a sharp elbow to the solar plexus. He fell back gasping and doubled over. “Ba-bastard!” he finally managed to wheeze out.
“No, that's Elim,” Tain said smugly. “The next time I strike you, it won't be in the solar plexus, Doctor, and you won't recover from it. Get out of my crawl space, and don't come back again unless I'm unconscious or dead.”
He backed out, not wanting to turn his back on Tain for even a moment, and took several deep breaths once he was back in the barracks. Sela glanced over at him. “I did warn you,” she said unsympathetically.
“So you did,” he acknowledged, straightening and rubbing at the sore spot. “We're going to have to figure out something. At this rate, he's going to kill himself in a matter of days. I take it none of the rest of you have the slightest idea how to do what he's doing?”
“If we did, he wouldn't be in there right now,” she said. “You're the one who's going to have to figure out something, Doctor. None of us can control him, and if any of us were to make a serious attempt, he'd have every Cardassian in this place beating down our door and killing us where we stand. They make up about a third of our population. I don't need to tell you the odds of our survival in that scenario.”
“No,” he said. “I'm going to go watch Martok now. If Tain does collapse, come get me, for all the good it will do.” He left the barracks feeling extremely discouraged. How could he keep someone alive who refused to do the slightest thing to shift the odds in his favor?
The sickening sound of fists thudding against flesh drew him straight to the odd arena he had seen earlier. It was difficult to force himself to watch, Martok and his Jem'Hadar opponent exchanging blows in such a vicious flurry that he couldn't tell who had advantage over whom. Martok blindsided his opponent with a high roundhouse, knocking him to the ground. The guard quickly scrambled to a post and banged the top of it with the flat of his hand, hauled himself to his feet, and turned to engage again.
“What is he doing?” Julian asked the Jem'Hadar closest to him. “Why did he hit that post?”
“It's the rules,” the guard answered without even looking at him.
“Why Martok?” he asked.
“Stop interrupting me with your foolish questions,” the guard spat. “You dishonor Ikat'ika.”
“Who?” he asked, wondering if he was about to get punched for his trouble. It seemed to be the going trend.
“The First,” the guard answered, finally turning an exasperated glare on him. Roughly, he grasped his shoulder and turned him toward his right. “There,” he said, pointing. “Address your questions to the First.”
“Alright,” he said agreeably. “My apologies.” The guard ignored him, his attention already back on the fight. Julian took care that the Jem'Hadar, Ikat'ika, saw him coming. He didn't like to think of what would happen if he surprised one of them.
“What do you want, human?” the First asked, eying him suspiciously.
“One of my bunkmates is ill,” he said carefully.
“If your bunkmate is lucky, he will die soon, then,” he said with supreme indifference.
“If he had proper medication, his condition wouldn't be fatal,” he explained. He couldn't tell if he was getting through to the guard or not, the Jem'Hadar's flat, dark blue eyes unreadable in the scaly, horned face. “Is there any way for me to obtain medication? I'm a doctor. It's not in my nature simply to let another die.”
“How badly do you wish to help this bunkmate of yours?” he asked, something calculating coming into the look.
He knew he couldn't afford to back down or display fear, or he'd lose any chance he had at gaining the alien's respect or cooperation. “I'll do whatever it takes,” he said evenly, holding eye contact.
The First smirked and turned to face the arena. “This match is over!” he called powerfully. “We have a new challenger for our arena.” Pausing, he glanced at Julian contemptuously. “What is your name, human?”
“What are you doing?” Martok snarled, clawing to his feet and limping to Julian's side.
Julian swallowed thickly. “Doctor Julian Bashir,” he said loudly.
“No!” Martok bellowed, whirling on the First. “This one is under me, and I forbid this!”
The First looked from Martok to Julian and back again. “He approached me for medication for one of your bunkmates. Are you saying he did this without your permission?”
“He had my permission to ask,” Martok said quickly, betraying no sign of the lie, “but not to issue a challenge. Any challenge will be met by me. There would be no...honor...in fighting that one. You can see that for yourself.”
Several of the Jem'Hadar muttered and nodded agreement. Julian felt his cheeks flame. He didn't dare to gainsay Martok in front of them, however, clamping his teeth over his tongue to keep himself from speaking out of turn.
“What he has asked for is valuable,” Ikat'ika said. “Not to be had simply for the asking or a standard match. If you can fight and defeat three of my men at once without a kill, your doctor will have whatever medicine he asks of me. A single dose. For each subsequent dose, you will fight additional men per match. These are my terms. I will give you two minutes to decide.” He gestured his men back to the other side of the arena and went with them, leaving Martok to speak to Julian in relative privacy.
“You can't do this,” Julian said low. “Let me fight one of them. It won't be the first time.”
“Unarmed? Hungry? Already battered?” Martok seized his bruised chin in a rough grip. He was unable to control his writhing to escape the iron grasp. The Klingon released him abruptly. “You and I both know you don't stand a chance.”
“And you think you do?” he asked, fear for the general constricting his chest. “You're barely holding your own against one of them. It's not worth this. There has to be another way.”
“Will this keep Tain alive?”
“For a while. Even if they give me just one dose of Benjisidrine, I can break it into smaller doses. It won't be ideal, but it will help control his arrhythmia to a degree, which is currently the biggest threat to his survival,” he murmured.
“Then it's worth it,” Martok said grimly. “I ought to knock you senseless for interfering after you gave your word. If this doesn't help Tain, I might yet.” He slapped him hard on the back and stepped into the arena. “I'm ready,” he said, baring his teeth in a fierce grin. “I accept the challenge!”
Garak
Janitza Hotel
Jalanda City, Bajor
Garak did his best to ignore the impression he always received from Bajoran architecture, that the buff colored stone was entirely too flesh-like and that the buildings squatted like hulking, misshapen giants. Clouds hung low and heavy in the overcast sky, threatening rain and turning the warm air thick. He disembarked last from the land transport that had retrieved the small Deep Space Nine party from the space port less than an hour away from the hotel. Two Bajorans hurried forward to unload their baggage onto a small anti-grav pallet and escort them into the sprawling lobby.
To the side of the check-in desk sat a long table arrayed with packets, small bags, and fruit baskets. A short queue of Bajorans stood on the side nearest Garak and his companions, and three more worked busily on the other side, sorting them out and handing them various things from the table. An elderly female vedek approached them with a smile, her gaze flicking over each and lingering the longest on Sisko. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We cannot tell you how honored we are that you've chosen to come to the conference.” Garak felt certain those words were meant for Sisko alone. “Please, come this way. We'll get all of you checked into your rooms, and then I'll need the two of you,” here she indicated Odo and Garak, “to come with me to the panelist table.”
The tailor nodded to indicate he understood and approached the desk a few steps behind the rest. He felt on heightened alert surrounded by these people in their own territory. When he had the opportunity, he claimed his one bag from the luggage pallet and secured the strap over his shoulder. He signed in, accepted his room code, and stepped aside for Odo to do the same. Dax turned and grinned at the security chief. “We'll see you later,” she said. “Benjamin promised we'd do a little shopping before the opening ceremony. I can't wait to hear what you have to say.” She glanced at Garak. “You, too, actually,” she said, her look more complex.
“I do hope I don't disappoint,” Garak said with a very slight incline of his head, fixing her with a steady gaze.
“I don't think you will,” she said easily then turned to Sisko, hooking an arm in his. “Nerys told me about this amazing shoe shop,” she said. “Lucky for us, it's less than four blocks from the hotel.”
“Yes, lucky us,” Sisko echoed in a way that sounded anything but enthusiastic.
The Cardassian smirked and watched them walk back the way they had come. Odo turned to him and leaned in. “Let's get this part over with,” he muttered.
Nodding, Garak walked with him and their vedek escort to the sign in table. Both of them signed their names into a waiting PADD and accepted one packet, one bag, and one basket apiece. With their arms full, they walked to the lift. He didn't like the feeling, both hands full in a small space with Odo, the vedek, and two other Bajorans who stepped in at the last second. At least he and the constable shared the same floor, just a few doors down from one another.
“The opening ceremony will begin at the eighth bell,” the woman informed both of them in the walk down the hallway. “We're asking all of our panelists to attend an informal reception an hour and a half before that. It will give you the chance to get to know everyone and learn about the format in which we intend to conduct the conference. Any questions you have can be answered then.” She made certain that both of them found their rooms before leaving them with a cordial farewell.
He was relieved to reach the privacy of his room. Before settling he gave the entire place a visual and tactile sweep, running his hands under the small dining table, the bottoms of both chairs, the underside of the bed, and any other surface that seemed a likely spot to affix a listening device. When he was reasonably satisfied that he wasn't being clandestinely observed, he unpacked his things and put them neatly away. The room was nice in a bland sort of way, earth tone décor as the Bajorans seemed to favor. He was particularly pleased to discover a balcony beyond a long sweep of curtains against the wall opposite the door. With the overcast, the light wasn't too bright to cast the curtains wide and open the transparent aluminum door to let in some fresh air.
Fishing a ripe moba fruit from the basket, Garak bit into it and took a seat on the too soft bed to fish through the packet. In addition to an itinerary, he found a history booklet, various maps, and at the very bottom of the envelope, a magnetic name tag. He set aside the moba fruit so that he could shake it out into his hand. “Elim Garak, Former Cardassian Oppressor,” he read aloud. His jaw tightened. Of course, he thought. Exactly what I thought this would be. A farce. A sham. He resisted the urge to fling the offensive bit of metal against the wall. The sound of fat, large raindrops striking his balcony provided much needed distraction.
Uncaring of his clothing, he stepped outside and settled both hands to the balcony rail, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Within moments, the sprinkle became one of the downpours that region of Bajor was known for. He let it pelt him and soak him to the skin, making no effort to retreat until he finally began to shiver. The rain may have been warm by Bajoran standards. It still felt cold to a son of Cardassia's heat. Reluctantly, he retreated indoors, had the hotel computer shut the door, and squelched across his carpet to the refresher.
He stripped quickly from the sodden clothing and left it piled on the tile floor, ran a bath as hot as he could stand it, and sank into the steamy water, submerging completely. He didn't come up for breath for quite some time, and when he did, he stayed low in the tub and soaked for a while, his shivering quick to subside. He wondered what the reaction would be if he simply refused to attend the reception. The message had already been sent loud and clear as to what they thought of him. It would fit with the image, after all, arrogant, unrepentant, xenophobic and intolerant. Incarceration had done this to him, convinced him to ignore his better instincts and waste his time.
Grumbling under his breath, he triggered the drain with a toe and climbed to his feet. The heat was beginning to leech from the tub. No, no matter how attractive the thought of snubbing his ungracious hosts might be, he committed to this. He would see it through, because one thing he wouldn't tolerate was to be thought a coward. After toweling himself, he wrung his wet clothes in the tub and retrieved hangers to let them air dry as much as possible in the humid air.
He dressed in the black clothing with silver accents he intended to wear to the reception and ceremony, carefully combed his hair into place, and returned to the moba fruit he had set aside earlier to finish it off. The rain continued to pelt, reducing visibility outside to the next building over. He wondered idly if it was also a hotel or something else. He had never spent much time in Jalanda City during the occupation, and of course few of the buildings were put to the same use then as they were now.
The downpour nixed any ideas he had entertained of getting out and exploring before he would be obligated to the conference. Too many people were careless in rain. The last thing he wanted was a hospital visit on top of everything else. He supposed that he could explore the hotel, for all the good it would do him. He didn't think it would be that different from most hotels. There might be a restaurant, a few places for shopping, nothing he couldn't determine from using the personal console.
Remembering the bag, he leaned to draw it closer and pushed aside sweet smelling packing grass to find a jar of jam, a decorative spoon, and a small sack of specialty bread flour. Not bad as far as hospitality gifts go, he thought. He had certainly received worse in his life, like that jar of pickled taspar eggs at a conference in Lakat.
His door chimed low and pleasant. “Who is it?” he asked, instantly on edge again.
“Odo,” came the gravely response.
“Enter,” he said, relaxing once more.
The constable hesitated before crossing the threshold. “I...wanted to talk to you before the conference,” he said without the preamble of small talk.
Raising an eye ridge, Garak gestured to one of the chairs at the small table near the balcony door. “I'm at your disposal,” he said. “You saved me the futility of wandering the halls in search of something to do.”
Odo nodded distractedly and took a seat, letting his gaze track toward the rain. “Have you studied the itinerary?” he asked, slow to look back at Garak.
Taking his seat across from him, Garak shook his head. “I barely gave it a glance.” He leaned to his bed and plucked the offensive tag from the outer cover, tossing it to the table top so that it slid and landed in front of his companion. “I was sidetracked.”
Odo picked it up and turned it in his long fingers to read. He let out a soft snort and raised deep set blue eyes to Garak's. “If it's any consolation, mine says, 'Former Overseer of Terok Nor'. I think they're just trying to be specific.”
“I think you should leave the lying to me,” Garak said a bit more shortly than he intended and held his hand out for the tag. “You're not very good at it.”
Odo handed it over and had the decency to look slightly chastised. “You and I are scheduled for a debate tomorrow morning,” he said abruptly.
“Is that what they're calling it?” he asked, flicking the tag back onto the bed.
“I'm going to tell what I observed,” Odo continued evenly. “I don't want you taking anything I say...personally. I have no idea what you did during the occupation, and I'm really not interested in finding out. However, I'm not going to lie or...understate about your fellow Cardassians. I respect you enough that I wanted to give you fair warning.”
Garak shook his head and made an impatient gesture. “Do you think me as fragile and sensitive as all that? If so you haven't been paying attention all these years. If it's a debate they want, it's a debate they'll have. I'm not foolish enough to take any such thing personally. I know what happened here. I know my people better than you or any of these people do. Say what you must, and expect the same from me.”
“You seem sensitive about the name tag,” Odo pointed out.
“It's offensive,” Garak snapped. “They claimed they wanted to take an unbiased look at the occupation, yet everything associated with this...farce...has been biased from the start, from the registration form to this. I assure you, no one here is any the wiser about my activities during the occupation than you are. They simply presume to call me an oppressor without any notion of what it is I may have done.”
“You were here,” Odo said, frowning. “You honestly can't see how that would be perceived as oppressive? Even if you did nothing more than hem trousers on Terok Nor—something I don't believe, by the way—you were providing a service to those who did oppress. Who did harm, enslave, torture, and kill. Your very presence was a violation of their sovereignty.”
“They invited us. They welcomed us with open arms. They partook of our technological advantages; they used us to secure their borders. They relied on us in crisis after crisis when we hardly had the resources to spare. Need I remind you that it was their own governing council that turned over home rule, their own backwards caste system that made that possible? Hardly a violation,” Garak countered.
Odo held up a hand. “Let's save this for the debate,” he said. “I don't feel like arguing with you. I'm aware of the claims on both sides. I won't argue that what you say doesn't have some merit insofar as explaining the position your government took.”
“Ever the impartial observer,” the Cardassian said a bit snidely.
Odo stood and closed the short distance to the balcony door, facing away from Garak and looking out. “That was uncalled for,” he said, his voice tense. “I'm not attacking you, Garak.”
That was interesting. He obviously struck a nerve, but in what way? He debated internally whether to press the issue or let it drop. The way Odo had treated him during his incarceration factored heavily in his decision. He was certainly capable of gratitude when it was warranted. “I'm sorry,” he said instead of attempting more provocation. “I'm...on edge. You can hardly blame me, the lone voice championing an unpopular viewpoint to enough people to overwhelm me easily should they choose.”
Odo glanced at him over his shoulder. “Captain Sisko would never stand for that, and neither would I. If it comes to that, I'll have you beamed directly back to the shuttle at the port. Whatever concerns you have, your fear for your safety is unwarranted.”
“I'm sure you thought the same thing at the monastery,” he said without recrimination.
He sighed. “You're right. I did. I'll be on my highest alert if it makes you feel better. There's nothing else I can do. I'm not in charge of the security here.”
Garak could almost hear the continuation of that point, and I'm not a changeling anymore. He knew it weighed on the man even now. He hadn't thought his hatred of the Dominion could grow any stronger, but in seeing the slight shift in the way Odo held himself, something diminished and a little defeated, it did. He suddenly felt the beginnings of a headache. Just what I need, he thought direly. “No offense, but the only thing that's going to make me feel better is getting this over with. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like some time to review the itinerary and gather my thoughts.”
Odo turned to study him, nodded, and circled the bed on his way to the door. “I'll come by and make sure you're awake on my way down,” he said.
Sometimes he was too observant for Garak's liking, and yet, for all of that, he was a decent friend. “Thank you,” he said simply, grateful that Odo hadn't gone so far as to inquire about the pain. Once he was alone, he closed his curtains, turned off the lights, and took a single pill before lying atop the bed clothes. If he was very lucky, he had managed to catch it in time to prevent a full blown migraine. He had a feeling he would need to be at the pinnacle of his game for the coming ordeal. It promised to be a long two days ahead.
The End
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I'm interested to see more from the conference, because Garak came off as unusually upset about it in canon, near ranting.
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Yeah, Garak seemed particularly upset in the shuttle ride, and Dax seemed equally convinced that the Bajorans were polite to him, so I'm going to have fun playing with that juxtaposition of viewpoint and how and why that came about. For the record, I think the name tag was rude and intended to be so. Thanks for the read and review!
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“If it's any consolation, mine says, 'Former Overseer of Terok Nor'. I think they're just trying to be specific.” It is so easy to picture his deadpan delivery and I've particularly liked Garak's observations of human Odo.
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But poor Martok. I have a feeling if he makes it back to the cell even semi-conscious, he's going to give Julian a hell of a time.
At least the Grumpy Twins haven't tried to hurt Julian, well, other than an attempt by Mr. Grumpy to manhandle him that Julian quickly put a stop to.
Oh, and I've decided I like Tain unconscious best.
Garak and Odo's situation at this conference is making me want to re-watch that episode again. I love the flourishes and how you give us so much more to go on ... like in the interment camp with Julian.
Missing scenes and insight into what the characters are worrying about, thinking of, and so forth ... just brilliant.
Well-done yet again! Love and Hugs!
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The Grumpy Twins. I love it! Tain unconscious has a certain appeal that Tain awake can't hold a candle to.
The conference episode completely glossed over what happened on Bajor, just jumping straight to when they were on their way back and how indignant Garak was about his treatment there. Sad to say, but I actually thought a conference episode would've been more interesting and compelling than what they did cover, the whole weird Odo somehow linking all of them with his subconsciousness. But that's why we get to write our own stuff.
The cool thing about this part of the series from a writing standpoint is that there's a LOT of wiggle room to cover behind the scenes. I've been looking forward to the internment camp stuff ever since I realized the first story wasn't going to be a one-shot after all. Thanks for the awesome reviews! I always love hearing what you think about it all.
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Another wonderful chappie as usual!
Ahh Garak the dreadful oppressor of trouser tears!
M
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Poor, poor Julian. He's surrounded by barely civil and very ruthless enemy-comrades, Tain, little access to food, water, hygiene, Tain, is threatened with death and punishment every minutes, and worse all, Tain! Pfft, Julian's so scrawny and bony, I don't think he would have survived so many matches, even with a possible advantage of speed and dexterity. Even Kira and Dax could only hold their own on one on ones fights with Jem Hadars, and Julian isn't that much bigger than them.
Garak getting all huffy and offended, ready to argue semantics at what is essentially a Holocaust conference. There's no carefully planned talking point that will win you any supporters for that. Although, they could have been more diplomatic with the name tag. Maybe. Probably not.
Garak is going to get really unhappy when Julian proves to be so distant. I can see him going, "Oh well, clearly he doesn't care any more, woe is I!" and psyching himself out of questioning it any further. That, or go the complete opposite and demand answers.
How cute is Ziyal and Jake? Seriously, they are so adorable, with their flailing and their gifting and they would have been so fluffy and sweet together. :D
Perfect.
♥
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I really would not want to be in Julian's place. He's about to have one of the most sucktastic months of his life, and given the things he has been through, that really does say a lot. Tain. I love to hate him and love to write him. hehe And no. There's no way I could see Julian actually holding his own in the Jem'Hadar arena. Good thing he has his frenemy Martok to look after him on that one.
The name tag probably could've been more diplomatic. I can see why Garak got offended, but I don't think Garak is at a point in his life yet where he can really understand why they have such a problem with him. The next chapter is going to be a bit of a challenge trying to juxtapose opposing viewpoints in such a way that his position is understandable, where what he is actually defending isn't justified. One reason I love DS9. They've got all those sticky wicket issues. As for "Julian", even I don't yet know how Garak is going to react to the changeling's attitude. That's one of those times where I have to throw them together and see what happens.
Poor Jake. *snickers* I can just see him. She's a cute girl, but...Gul Dukat. Garak. Yeeeaaaaaah, just friends. Juuusst frieeennnnddddsss! And of course, she has no idea. I imagine she'd be a little hot under the collar if she finds out Garak had a little talk with Jake. Hmm. There's a thought. *evil grin* Thanks for the review!!
great writing
Re: great writing
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I am sooo impressed by your ability to stick so closely to canon and make it all hang together and work. I know from personal experience that's really quite difficult and you do the best job of just about any author I've ever read.
I hope you haven't given up on this series because I selfishly can't wait to read more.
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