NEW DS9: In His Shadow 1/3 (G/B, pre-slash) [PG]

[bassclefgrrl]

Title: In His Shadow (1/3)

Author: E LaForge

Email: basscl...@yahoo.com

Series: No

Rating: PG

Pairings: Garak/Bashir pre-slash

Spoilers: Not really. Takes place between the epsiodes "Shadowplay"
and "The Wire."

Summary: Garak talks Bashir into participating in a real-life spy
exercise.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns it ALL. Damn them.

Notes: This sat on my hard drive for more than a year before I made
some suggested changes to it. Feedback welcome. It was weird to
revamp a story featuring the early, more "naive" Bashir, so would
like to know if I was able to pull it off. Thanks also to all of
those who commented on my story "Territorial." I am horrible at
these lists.

***

His Galatian stew was getting cold, but Julian Bashir didn't notice
or very care much about his lunch. His full attention was on his
companion, who was speaking in low, smooth tones across the table,
ignoring his meal also. Julian leaned forward, eagerly drinking in
Garak's latest tale; this time, it concerned a `certain man of his
acquaintance' on Cardassia Prime who'd made a daring and improbable
escape from a squad of assassins.

"You're serious?" Julian murmured when Garak paused for
breath. "*Completely* naked? But then, *where* was he hiding that
disrupter?"

"Well, Doctor . . ." Garak began, but trailed off, his eyes fixed on
some point just over the doctor's shoulder. Confused and more than a
little impatient to hear the rest of the story, Julian glanced over
his shoulder to see what had captured Garak's attention, and was
surprised to see Major Kira walking quickly in their direction.

"It seems, Doctor, that your presence may be required elswhere."
Garak picked up his fork. "Perhaps the story will need to wait for
another time."

"Uh, yes. Perhaps." Julian smiled nervously as Kira approached,
wondering what could be the problem. He was sure that if there was a
medical emergency, he would've been commed, or if it was some
problem that needed the attention of the station's senior staff,
Commander Sisko would have sent a memo. Though he was sure the
Bajoran no longer regarded him as a pest, Julian didn't consider
them *friends* really, so he doubted Kira was coming over to just to
talk – or to join them for lunch. Garak's presence alone made that
scenario highly unlikely.

"Hello, Doctor," Kira stood at Julian's elbow. Her eyes flicked up
and away. "Garak . . ." she muttered reluctantly.

"Good afternoon, Major." Garak's smile was wide with just a hint of
chill to it. "Would you care to join us?"

"No, thanks. I'm meeting some friends for lunch at the Klingon
restaurant. They've got a new bloodworm soup the station's been
raving about."

"Ah! So I've heard . . .".

"Kira?" Julian's voice was cautious. Kira and Garak exchanging
pleasantries was mildly disturbing. He knew he was probably being
silly, but a smiling Kira unnerved him. "Is there something wrong?"

Kira shook her head. "Not at all. I just saw you over here and I
wanted to say hello."

"Oh." Julian gulped, feeling very foolish suddenly. "Er . . .
hello." He searched for something gallant to say, maybe compliment
her outfit, though she wore the same orange-red jumpsuit she always
wore. Her hair maybe? Well . . . no, that was the same, as well.
Just as he'd made up his mind to ask her how she was enjoying the
spring ball holosuite program O'Brien had recently installed, she
spoke again.

"Also, I wanted to ask – have you noticed Quark acting . . .
unusual?"

Julian's brow wrinkled. "Unusual?"

"Yes, has he been sneaking around, looking shifty? Anything out of
the ordinary that you've noticed?"

"Well, no. Nothing I can think of off-hand." Julian frowned, trying
to think back. "I was in Quark's yesterday, and nothing seemed odd.
Why do you ask? Do you suspect something?"

He'd barely stopped speaking when he saw a wicked gleam in Kira's
eye, and instantly, Julian flushed, knowing that he'd stepped right
into a trap. Her smile widened a little and she looked the picture
of innocence.

"Well, no, but I'd thought I'd ask. I'd wondered how you were
getting along in your `surveillance' practice." Kira's mouth
twitched at the corners as she turned to Garak. "I'm sure you're
proud. You've taught him *so* well." With that, she moved off,
laughter trailing in her wake.

"Oh, for gods' . . ." Julian buried his face in his hands, wishing
that he could hide in his stew. He was never going to live that
little episode down, not if Kira had anything to say about it. Damn
Quark and damn Kira and her little snide remarks. It'd be the last
time he'd do her any favors. To be needled in staff gatherings and
in visits to Ops was one thing – Sisko had already taken to calling
him `Secret Agent Man' and Dax had wondered aloud if he had two-way
surveillance mirrors installed in the Infirmary – but teasing him in
front of Garak –

Julian lifted his head, staring miserably at the man opposite him.
Garak's face belied no hint of what he was thinking, but Julian saw
his eyes widen a fraction.

"That was an interesting discourse, Doctor. I'm eagerly awaiting
your elaboration on the Major's words."

"Believe me, you don't want to know." Julian sullenly stirred his
food. "I know *I* am trying to forget."

"Ah, but I *do* want to know," Garak said mildly. "What is it that
*I* have taught you that would have the Major in such a . . .
mirthful mood."

It was all Julian could do to keep from groaning. He really didn't
want to get into it, but Kira had forced his hand by bringing Garak
into the conversation to begin with. *I suppose I do owe him an
explanation.* Julian stifled a sigh. *I can only hope that
afterward, he doesn't think me an utter fool.*

"Fine, I'll tell you, but you must promise me that . . . that . . ."
Julian hesitated.

"Yes . . .?"

"That you won't make me feel an even bigger fool than I do know," he
sighed, feeling his blush return.

Garak nodded solemnly. "I will do my best to comply, Doctor."

Julian didn't feel much comforted at that "assurance," but
nevertheless began in a quiet voice, "Do you remember some weeks ago
when Dax and Odo were on a mission to the Gamma Quadrant, and Kira
was de-facto head of security on the station?"

"I do seem to recall the Constable being absent for a time in the
recent past, yes."

"Well, Kira suspected Quark of some underhanded dealings. She never
really explained *what* she suspected him of, but, with Quark it
could be anything from smuggling to rigging the Dabo wheel." Julian
took a deep breath. "Vedek Bareil was visiting the station, and Kira
wanted to entertain him, so she – she asked me to keep an eye on
Quark in my off-duty hours. Nothing official – I was just to watch
him to see if he was doing anything beyond his usual underhanded
tricks. And I . . ."

Julian faltered, unnerved by Garak's intense gaze. "I told her I'd
be glad to, because I – I . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut. If Garak
was going to begin laughing at him, he didn't want to see it – not
at first. "Because I wanted to put into practice some covert
surveillance techniques you had, ah, been lecturing me on, and
watching Quark would give me ample opportunity."

Bashir kept his eyes closed and braced for the Cardassian's
laughter, silently calculating the chances of a wormhole being
discovered right there in the Replimat and swallowing him up. It
wasn't the embarrassment of admitting to spying on Quark for Kira,
and it really even wasn't the admission that he'd mentioned his
talks with Garak on spy tactics to Kira that made Julian's face
burn. It was that he'd been so bloody *ineffectual* at it. He'd
thought keeping an eye on one Ferengi bar owner would be much less
taxing than inoculating half the station against Bajoran measles,
but what did he know? He was a doctor – not, as it turned out, a
serviceable "spy."

"I see." Julian opened his eyes quickly, surprised and a little
gratified to see Garak's face still holding its serious
expression. "And can I assume from the Major's, er, attitude, that
your mission wasn't exactly a success?"

"It was a disaster." Julian raked a hand through his hair. "I mean,
I tried Garak, I really did. I remembered everything you said
about `seeing' with your entire body, not just your eyes, and hiding
in plain sight, and research and all. I am sure Quark didn't see me
once during the two days I kept an eye on him, and yet all I saw him
do was serve drinks and take bets at the Dabo table. But he *was* up
to something underhanded. Kira was able to figure out what it was
before it was too late – no thanks to me."

There was silence for a minute and Julian stared down into his now-
unappetizing – and cold – lunch. He wondered how far he'd fallen in
the tailor's estimation. There were times that he believed that
Garak regarded him very highly, indeed, but now . . .

"Ah, doctor, don't be so hard on yourself." Garak's gentle smile was
devoid of any mockery. "I'm sure you did your best – I fear *I* am
the one at fault here."

"You?!" Julian's jaw dropped. "You? What do you mean?"

"Doctor, tell me; your medical studies were multifaceted, were they
not? You doubtless sat in classrooms for hours, reading holo-
texts . . . listening to professors drone on and on about the finer
points of anatomy or microbes or chemistry, yes?"

"Yes, of course."

"But you were also – as part of your training – charged to put into
practice what you learned on living beings. Correct?"

"Of course," Julian said slowly, not quite sure where Garak was
going with all this. "Field study is common practice at the Academy.
I spent two semesters at Starbase 278 as a surgical intern."

"I am sure that you learned much during your time aboard the
starbase, which, I assume, is the point of such an assignment – to
get . . . what is the term? Hands-on experience?" Garak studied
him. "The practical side of the science of doctoring can, perhaps,
be contained in a series of texts, but it would be very impractical
to assume that simply reading would prepare you for a career in
medicine."

"Impractical would not be the word. Absolutely asinine would be more
like it." Bashir shook his head. "Laser suturing alone is a tricky
bit of business. You simply can't know how to do it by reading about
it in a surgery holovid."

"Just as you could not be expected to adequately observe a being
with a penchant for misdirection such as Quark without having had
practical experience beforehand." Garak rested his chin on steepled
fingers. "And as your . . . teacher in this matter, I was remiss in
not allowing for that practical experience."

"I think I see your point." Julian nodded. "And, actually, as a
result of all this, I'd asked Miles to make me holosuite program
that just might give me that experience. Perhaps you and I could –"

"A holosuite program?" Garak looked properly scandalized. "My *dear*
Doctor. Just as you perfected your physician's techniques on living,
breathing beings, you cannot expect to be fully versed on the study
of espionage without perfecting your techniques outside the sterile,
controlled world of holographic technology. It is too easy to
say `Computer, end program!' if things get a bit overwhelming. Also –
a true-to-life example would be much more interesting."

There was a twinkle in the tailor's eye, and Julian found himself
getting a little nervous. "Well, then, what do you have in mind?

"Simply this: You will keep watch on one person on this station for
a three-day period." Garak tilted his head. "You will follow this
person wherever he goes, you will note the time, date, location of
this person as you follow him. You will note what he wears, what he
eats or drinks, who he talks to, and so on. Be as detailed as
possible. But –
you will *not* allow him to see you – if you are discovered, then I
will consider your little field test a failure."

Julian reared back a bit. "You cannot be serious."

"I am very serious," Garak returned. "Of course, you will do this on
your off-duty hours, and for only an hour or two at a time. For now,
it is best to get gradually acclimated to surveillance rather than
to go at full-throttle at once. Besides, I'm sure you have other
duties that will occupy your time. But I do think you'd find this
exercise to be beneficial, my dear."

"I'd only have to do it for a couple of hours per day?" Bashir
digested this, his mind already working out the possibilities. "That
doesn't seem as if it would help me to hone my skills much."

"Ah, but we are talking quality – not quantity, here, doctor." Garak
smiled. "You cannot be seen – at all. Not even glanced in the
periphery. That means that you cannot cross paths with your target,
you cannot be in a space where you might be discovered – you cannot
even have your subject believing you are anywhere in his vicinity.
And that, doctor, *will* be difficult – I assure you."

"I don't know about that, Garak. Quark didn't see me, after all, and
I was practically under his nose."

Garak's smile went lopsided. "If you believe that Quark does not
know each and every breathing creature that walks through his
establishment, you are sadly mistaken, doctor. One thing I must
impress upon you – never assume that you are more intelligent than
your target . . . even if it is veritably certain that you are. If
you are overconfident, you are lax, and if you are lax, then . . ."

"Then I have Kira needling me for god knows how long," Bashir
muttered.

"Precisely." Garak's smile was at full force once more. "So, do you
wish to participate? If your schedule is full in the coming days, I
more than understand."

Julian thought it over. The next few days were relatively quiet so
far as his duty shifts were concerned. Though prowling through the
station wouldn't do much for his social life, Julian couldn't deny
that the idea of being something of true spy, if only for a couple
of hours a day, would be exciting – just as it had been exciting
when keeping tabs on Quark.

"I suppose I am, Garak." Julian leaned forward, lowering his voice
to a conspiratorial tone. "So, then, who do you propose I follow?"

Garak was beaming. "Why myself, of course!"

Julian's grin vanished. "You?!"

All right, this was not at all good. Though Garak danced around the
topic, Julian was sure the Cardassian had more than his
professed "passing knowledge" of covert techniques and operations,
and he'd be a much trickier subject, than, perhaps, the Sularian who
sold geraniums on the Promenade. "I can't spy on you – you're the
one who's been teaching me everything!"

"Precisely why *I* am the best candidate for this experiment," Garak
said. "How better to see if you truly have absorbed my teachings
than to have you use them against me?"

"But . . . but . . ." Julian was vaguely aware that it made a
twisted sort of a sense. "Garak, I don't think . . ."

"Also, it is a question of simple logic. Odo has resumed his
surveillance of Quark, and I doubt he'd welcome any interference
from you," Garak said. "Also, following one of your fellow Starfleet
crew members would be much too easy. You are a senior officer, after
all, *and* chief medical officer. Doubtless you have access to the
duty files of any and all station personnel. It would be too easy
for you to simply map out a course of action based on the
information you glean there."

"But – spies do that all the time!" Julian's cheeks reddened and he
lowered his voice at Garak's wide smile. "Or, so I've read. It is
intelligent and expedient to use all the information at your
disposal when you undertake, er, something like this."

"Perhaps. But just as I'm sure part of your medical study included
using antiquated techniques of surgical procedure just in case your
equipment malfunctioned, this test will be stripped of all of
technology's accoutrements." Garak's smile was serene. "It is fine
for you to use whatever you need to augment your surveillance – but
I will not allow you to let the computers to do your work for you.
So, of course, that means no asking the computer of the location of
your target, no tracking devices, no scanning materials. Simply your
brain, your eyes and a very good pair footwear will be all the
allowable equipment."

"I can do any of those things and use any devices I like without
your knowledge." Julian asked with a wry smile. "How will you know
that I won't cheat?"

Garak's eye ridges inched up. "Well, Doctor . . . I suppose I'll
have to trust you."

Julian chuckled beneath his breath. Strange, those words coming from
*Garak's* mouth. "I'll admit, Garak, I am intrigued. It would be
interesting to see what you get up to later in the day – and to see
if I really *can* tail you without your being any the wiser."

"We will see. Please keep in mind, Doctor, that I must *not* see you
at all. If, during the course of your surveillance, I lay eyes on
you, I will contact you and the exercise will be over immediately."
Garak dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "Of course this means our
lunches will have to be suspended during the time of the exercise."

"Of course." Julian felt a little sad at that. He always looked
forward to meals with the tailor, especially now that they had gone
beyond their weekly mundane literary arguments and were meeting and
talking more frequently about Garak's life on Cardassia Prime and
some of the fascinating things he'd done and seen there. "But we'll
make it up on the fourth day?"

"Indeed we will." Garak stood up, clasping his hands behind
him. "Then we begin tomorrow. I must take my leave of you now,
Doctor, as I have some pressing work to attend to. I look forward to
*not* seeing you for the next 72 hours. Until then." He inclined his
head slightly, and moved toward the exit.

"Goodbye, Garak," Julian murmured at the retreating back, smiling
when Garak paused at the door and looked back at him, giving him
what seemed to be a small wave and a parting smile, before facing
forward again and walking out the door.

****

"Computer – time?"

"The time is 1742," the computer responded. Julian jumped in
surprise – had he been dawdling in his quarters for almost an hour?
Where had the time gone?

"Damn, I must hurry," he muttered, speeding his movements. Garak
closed up his shop promptly at 1800 hours, and Bashir knew he had to
get to the Promenade soon or risk Garak's slipping away from him.
*Not* a good way to begin their little test.

The day had dragged on for Julian, his boredom alleviated briefly by
a young ensign who'd gotten into a bad batch of Romulan ale. For the
rest of his shift, however, he'd sat in his office, pretending to
read some of the latest medical texts and plotting his plan of
action for the next three days. Although Julian considered the
tailor a friend – or on the way to becoming one, at any rate – he
had an uneasy realization that he knew much less about Garak's
tastes and habits than a typical friend would. While he didn't
believe the Cardassian was a "social" creature, Julian had high
hopes that Garak would not make this experiment easy for him by
simply closing shop and retiring to his quarters for the evening.
.
He tugged at the high neck on his tunic, trying to get comfortable
in his attire. One thing he'd decided early on was that he must
ditch his uniform while tailing Garak. Though there were just about
as many Starfleet officers on the station as anyone else, Julian was
sure that Garak would keep a sharp eye on all humans in uniform. But
by the same token, he was sure that Garak expected him to shed his
Starfleet-issue clothing in favor of something less identifiable. So
the question then became what to wear that would allow him to "blend
in" without attracting much notice.

Julian had ransacked his closet before coming up with a tunic and
pants ensemble in tonal reds and browns, much like the clothing most
of the Bajoran residents on the station wore. Glaring at himself in
the mirror, Julian reflected that red was not really his color at
all.

//Ah, well, it doesn't look too bad.// He yanked at the collar
again. //And it's just bland enough that he probably wouldn't notice
even if he did see me. He didn't design it, after all.//

Silently declaring himself as ready as he'd ever be, Julian took a
fortifying breath, grabbed a data padd and rushed out of his
quarters before he could have second thoughts on this enterprise.
Dashing into a turbolift, he breathed in and out slowly, trying to
calm his beating heart and relax.

//Come, Jules, get a hold of yourself! Spies are not nervous! At
least, not outwardly so. Just be calm. . .//

His internal pep talk helped him some on the brief ride, but as he
entered the Promenade, he felt some of the jitters return and
increase as he noticed the lights still on in the little clothing
store. He quickly scanned the area for a place at which could
conceal himself and keep an eye on Garak's shop. With a sigh of
relief, he found an empty kiosk situated on an angle across from a
cluster of shops that included the Cardassian's. Settling in behind
the structure, Julian took out his padd and pretended to read, sure
that he looked just like an innocuous, newly arrived visitor
relaxing after a long day of space travel.

Julian felt a little more at ease in his hiding place, glancing up
periodically from the blank screen, waiting for the moment at which
Garak would exit the shop. Occasionally, he glanced out of the
station's windows, idly regarding the stars and stillness of space.
It was an entrancing view – so much so that Julian very nearly
missed Garak's appearance.

He turned his head just in time to see the Cardassian standing
outside the now-darkened storefront, tapping in his security-lock
code before proceeding casually in the direction of Quark's. Cursing
beneath his breath, Bashir crept forward in pursuit, noting the
time, 1800 hours exactly, keying in a quick `Subject leaves place of
business' as he followed.

Julian fell in with some Starfleet security officers also heading
toward Quark's, and was gratified to note that no one seemed to
recognize him. He entered with the crowd and peeled away, stealthily
making his way to the upper level. Finding a secluded spot near the
ornate railing, Julian leaned over, scanning the crowd for the
tailor. If Garak had been anything other than he was – namely, the
only Cardassian aboard the station – it would have been difficult to
pick him out of the teeming crowd, but Bashir found him easily. He
was sitting alone at a small table about a dozen meters from the
bar. One of the waiters had just put down a drink of some sort, and
Garak was sipping slowly and reading what looked to be some sort of
holo-novel, utterly oblivious – it seemed – to his surroundings.

//Perfect! Just stay right where you are, my friend.// Julian
slanted his body so that he could keep his eyes on the tailor. With
practiced fingers, he keyed in the time: 1805 – the location:
Quark's – Garak's clothing: Brown tunic and lighter tan slacks – and
his drink –

Julian frowned. His drink. What on earth *was* that the Cardassian
was drinking? It didn't look like his usual kanar – in fact, Julian
couldn't recall ever seeing the multicolored beverage before. //Ah
well, I'll leave that blank for now.//

"Dr. Bashir!"

Julian jumped to see Rom suddenly at his side. "Good evening, Dr.
Bashir!" The Ferengi's voice was loud and grating. "What can I get
for you to–"

"Rom! Shh!" Julian peeped fearfully at Garak, who hadn't moved.
Likely he couldn't hear much above the rising noise level, but
Bashir couldn't be sure. "Please lower your voice!"

Rom blinked. "Er, sorry, Dr. Bashir." He spoke in a whisper. "What
can I get for you tonight?"

"Um . . ." Bashir hesitated. Heavy synthale would probably not be a
good idea, but maybe a little something would take a little of the
edge off. "A Yev't martini. Warm." He smiled wistfully. A martini
was a perfectly respectable drink for a secret operative.

Rom jotted it down on his order padd. "Got it. May I, er," he
lowered his voice again. "May I get you anything else?"

"Well . . ." With another glance at Garak, Julian motioned the
Ferengi closer. "Rom, do you know what Garak is drinking?" he asked
quietly.

"Garak?"

"Yes. He's sitting right there." Julian made a discreet motion in
Garak's direction. "I can't quite make out what that beverage is."

Rom took a look, frowning. "I didn't serve that to him, so I don't
know. Do you want me to go down and ask him –"

"No! No!" Julian grabbed the hem of Rom's jacket as he turned to
leave. "No, never mind. Forget I asked! Do not ask him anything. In
fact, if anyone asks *you,* you have not seen me here."

The Ferengi stared at him. "I haven't seen you here."

"Exactly."

"But . . . what about the Yev't martini?" Rom looked
confused. "Don't you still want it?"

"Well, yes . . ." Julian glanced down at Garak again. "But for all
that, if *anyone* asks, you haven't seen me."

"I haven't?"

"You haven't."

"Even though we're talking right now. And you've ordered a drink."

Julian took two deep breaths. "Rom. Listen to me carefully: You
*haven't* seen me."

"Uh. Right. I haven't seen you." The Ferengi started to ease away,
looking as if he wished he really *hadn't* seen him. "Whatever you
say, Doctor. But, I'll be right back with your drink." He scurried
off, and Julian relaxed in his chair, resuming his watch.

For about 15 minutes, nothing changed. Garak read his novel and
nursed his drink. Julian barely took his eyes away from the
Cardassian as he sipped the cooling synthale and toyed with the
olive in his martini. The monotony was a bit trying, but Bashir
forced himself to keep focus. At least Garak was making it a bit
easy for him, staying in one place as he was. When he'd tried
keeping his eye on Quark, the Ferengi had been flitting all over the
place like a Vulcan dragonfly.

In another minute, though, there was some activity. Julian's eyes
widened when he saw a lovely Bajoran woman resplendent in a dress of
maroon satin, approach Garak's table, greet him with a smile and sit
herself opposite him. Bashir leaned forward as much as he dared,
attempting to ascertain the identity of Garak's companion, and
finally recognized her as Mandra Sira, the owner of shop on the
Promenade.

//A Bajoran . . . talking to Garak?// Bashir stared at the pair, his
curiosity piqued as she and Garak engaged in what looked to be a
friendly conversation. //What could that be about?//

Garak was hardly popular around the station, Julian knew, and almost
to a person, the Bajoran residents avoided him. Julian had never met
Mandra Sira, knowing of her only by hearsay. She didn't seem to be
close to any of the other Bajoran merchants, and Kira in a
particular seemed to have something of a disdain for her. But for
all that, he couldn't imagine Sira and Garak being close. And, he
thought, eyeing their easy manner with each other and Sira's hand
atop Garak's, they certainly seemed *close.*

Dutifully, he typed `1824 – Subject joined by Mandra Sira. Ms.
Mandra and subject engage in conversation.' Julian frowned at the
screen, thinking that the information was a little skimpy. What were
they discussing, exactly? What were they laughing about? And perhaps
it was the angle, but was Garak *really* looking down the front of
Sira's dress?

He shook himself out of his daze. //Oh, gods! You're the spy,
Bashir. Stop dawdling about and find out!//

Determined, Bashir rose from the table and crept to the lower level,
not sure exactly how he was going to get close enough to the two to
hear any of their conversation. There was an empty table right
beside them, but he couldn't just sit down at it – one or both of
them might notice, and besides, Rom might make a beeline to him and
loudly ask him if he wanted another drink.

//What to do . . . what to – ah!// Julian's eyes pinballed around
the level, lighting on a young Bajoran waiter who was clearing off a
few of the adjoining tables. The man gathered up used glasses and
dishes and walked briskly toward the kitchen, leaving behind his
cleansing sponge on the table he'd just cleared. Swiftly, Julian
snagged the cloth, and tugged his collar up over his chin. With the
lights so dim, his outfit might be mistaken for that of a waiter's,
and if he kept his head down, he might be safe.

Carefully, Julian began swabbing nearby tables, methodically working
his way to the empty booth directly behind Garak and Sira's table.
Once there, he inched as close as he dared, wiping the surface of
the table thoughtfully as his ears strained to pick up the
conversation.

The noise level in Quark's prevented the doctor from overhearing
much, but the woman seemed in a good mood and her boisterous manner
helped him out a great deal. Unfortunately, he couldn't make much
sense of the conversation just by hearing Sira's side alone.

"I can promise you, Mr. Garak. I will not betray you. However, I
would hope you'd reconsider. I am not ashamed to stand by you,
though I can respect your reluctance to do the same."

Garak's reply was somewhat lengthy and largely inaudible, but Julian
thought he could hear the words "ridiculous" and "travesty"
somewhere tucked in. After a moment, Sira's sweet laughter cut into
whatever Garak was saying.

"Well then, if that's the case, I'm thankful to your Julian Bashir.
I'd not known you were especially close to any of the Starfleet
people."

Bashir stopped wiping. Him? They were discussing *him*? What? Why?
Julian's brow furrowed. What "marvelous thing" was Garak doing, and
what had *he* to do with it?

"Ah, splendid. There's a waiter right there." Julian noticed Garak's
voice had risen slightly. "I believe we are ready to order. Excuse
me . . . I said that we *are* ready to order."

Julian, deep in his musings, felt a prickle of fear shoot down his
spine. It was a sensation that grew more pronounced when he realized
that Garak's voice seemed much louder than it had seconds before and
seemed to be directed . . .

//Oh no . . .// Julian's eyes went wide. Garak was speaking to
*him.* Well, to his back, to be more precise –

"Excuse me." Garak's voice was turning a little sharp. "I would like
to place an order, if you please."

Julian straightened up and pivoted, careful to face away from the
two. He moved quickly away from the area, mildly aware of a string
of curses in Kardasi hurled in his direction. Noting the return of
the waiter whose cleansing equipment he swiped, he grabbed the man's
arm and swung him round, using his body as a barrier between Garak's
table and himself.

"Sir? What are you –?"

"They're ready to order," Julian said sotto voce, nodding in Garak's
general direction. "I'll, uh, take these." He grabbed the few dirty
dishes from the other man and took them and himself out of the area
as quickly as possible. A bit sheepish, he made a beeline for the
bar to deposit the items to where they belonged.

At his approach, Quark barely looked up. "Good, you're back. Drinks
for table Q-5 in the upper level are –"

The Ferengi stopped and looked up again, doing a double take. "Dr.
Bashir?!"

"Here you are." Julian unceremoniously dropped the plates on the
conveyor belt behind the bar and watched them disappear into the
kitchen. He grimaced at Quark's questioning look. "It was on my way."

Quark peered up at him. "Listen, doc, I know Starfleet wages are a
joke, but I really don't need any more waiters here now that I've
brought on the Bajorans. Maybe during tourist season –"

"It's not what you think." Julian glanced over his shoulder,
relieved to see that Dax and Garak had remained at their table and
were resuming their talk. "Quark . . . do you think you could tell
me what Garak is drinking?"

Quark looked puzzled. "Garak? The tailor?"

"Yes. The tailor." Bashir shook his head. Were there any other
Garaks on the station that had escaped his notice?

"That's kind of a personal question, doctor." Quark's eyes were
guarded. "Did the Constable send you here? Tell him that I *did*
have a permit for that Garsis root, but it simply got it wet during
my shower."

Julian resisted the urge to bang his head on the bar. "This isn't a
trick question, Quark. You're not under suspicion of anything that I
know of. I simply want to know what Garak – the tailor – is having
to drink tonight."

For a very long minute, Quark looked mystified. Then he
brightened. "Let's see . . . was it the brandy from Ula? No . . .
maybe it was the Dardelan champagne. Both perfectly legal to export
and import in Bajoran space, mind you."

Julian rolled his eyes. "Well which was it? Champagne or brandy?"

"Why do you want to know? You didn't like the martini?"

"No, no, it's not that." Julian swallowed. "It looked very
intriguing, and I wanted to know so that I can order it for the next
time."

"Well, then why don't you just ask him yourself?" Quark
shrugged. "Easy enough."

Julian started to back away. "No, no that's all right. I –"

"No, it's no problem. There is he is now." Quark leaned over the
bar. "Hey, Garak!"

Julian whirled in horror. The Cardassian was standing up now, still
speaking to Sira, but apparently heading for some other part of the
bar. He hadn't given any indication that he'd heard Quark's voice,
but before Bashir could quiet the Ferengi down, he called out
Garak's name even louder.

In a panic, Julian knew that he was too far away from the stairs to
make it back to the upper level without Garak getting an eyeful of
him. In the split second in which he had to make his decision,
Julian took cover behind the only refuge he saw – the bar. He
hunkered down near Quark's feet, feeling extremely exposed. All
Garak would need to do was lean over and he'd get a look at one very
sorry spy in training.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" Quark glared down at him,
but shut up when Julian shook his head tightly and motioned for
silence.

"Garak . . . mustn't let him see me," he said in a fierce
whisper. "Please!" Quark's eyes widened, but he made no motion that
he'd understood a word.

"Quark. You were calling me?"

Julian trembled. He could clearly hear Garak's pleasant voice, even
above the other racket going on around him, even the rising shouts
at the Dabo table. The Cardassian was entirely too close for
comfort. Bashir risked a glance upward and saw no faces peering over
the counter at him, but he was careful not to make any movement.

"Uh, right, Garak. Hello!" The Ferengi hesitated. "I, um . . . I
wanted to know . . . uh . . . what was it you had to drink tonight?"

There was a second of total silence. Even the air in the room seemed
to go still. Julian held his breath, imagining Garak's shrewd, blue
eyes boring into Quark's mind, probing, assessing.

"What I had to drink?"

"Uh, yes. See, one of my stupid waiters dropped a bottle of the
synthale, and I can't make out the label. I'm almost sure it's the
same bottle I poured your drink from, so I wondered if you could
remember it."

In spite of his discomfort, Julian admired the relatively smooth way
Quark delivered the lie, and was even more in awe that not once did
the Ferengi look down and give him away. With a suspended breath,
Julian listened to Garak's reply.

"I see. Well, it was a delightful drink I read about in a novel from
Earth. A `tequila sunrise,' I believe it's called."

"The fool!" Quark's gasp was so overdone and outrageously false that
Julian almost had an attack of the giggles. "That was *real* Tragian
Cuervo! It took me weeks to get my contacts to smug – ah, send it
here! And now I'll have to go through them – and Odo – again for
another!"

"Ah, the trials and tribulations of being a businessman. I fully
sympathize. Just this afternoon, a Tholian child was
unfortunately . . . ill all over a bolt of my best Targean velvet.
Quite a loss, I assure you. It was quite difficult for me to
maintain a pleasant attitude." Garak's voice lost a bit of its
warmth. "Speaking of business practices, I must mention, Quark, that
some of your wait staff is lacking in decorum. One of them
positively ran off when I tried to place an order."

"What?" Quark sounded angry. "Ignoring customers – very bad for
business. I'm sure that if I ignore giving him his pay padd this
week, he'll straighten out. Do you see him around?"

"No, I don't, and I did not see his face. Though strangely enough,
he reminded me a bit of Dr. Bashir."

Julian winced. Garak spoke too casually, almost off-handedly. Had he
been found out? Quark shifted a little, accidentally kicking Bashir
in the foot.

"The doc? Well . . . there's not anyone *here* who looks like that –"

"That looks like who?" Rom's voice came from the side of the bar at
which Garak was standing.

"Garak says we've hired a rude waiter and that he looks like Dr.
Bashir."

"Dr. Bashir?" Rom's voice trembled. "I haven't seen Dr. Bashir. Not
here. Not today. No one's seen him. Here, I mean. He hasn't been in
here. You've not seen Dr. Bashir today, either, right brother?"

//Oh dear lord . . .// Julian covered his face in his hands, fully
aware now why he'd never once seen a Ferengi in a spy holovid.

"I see." Garak's voice sounded a little distant now. He was moving
away, Bashir realized with no small relief. "Well, good evening,
then."

Julian waited a minute before venturing a soft, "Is he gone?"

"Yeah." Quark's voice was equally quiet, but curious. "You want to
tell me what's going on with you two?"

"You're sure he's gone?"

"He's gone! He's gone!" For a minute, Julian wondered if the man was
going to start jumping up and down on the bar. "He's leaving. Now
what the heck –"

"Leaving!" Bashir popped up from behind the bar like a jack-in-the
box, just in time to see the Cardassian walking out of the
establishment. "I must catch him!" His fingers flew as he keyed the
drink and noted: `1902: Subject leaves Quark's' on the padd. He
vaulted nimbly over the bar, knocking off a few glasses in his
haste. Rom gaped at him, but turned quickly away, finding something
to do on the other side of the establishment.

"*Catch* him? But I thought you said –" Quark began, when a beeping
noise cut into his words. Julian was at a loss for a moment as to
what the sound was, before realizing that it was his comm badge
chirping. He had it on under his outfit in case an emergency rose
and he had to be reached.

He tapped the badge. "Bashir here. Please repeat."

"Doctor, it's Nurse Rahlen." Julian recognized the voice of the head
nurse in charge during the Beta shift. "I'm sorry to disturb you,
but Ensign Rahkti has come in complaining of abdominal distress.
Preliminary scans indicate it may be appendicitis."

"Understood. Set up for a 3-point scan of the abdominal cavity and
prep him for surgery. I'll be there immediately. Bashir out."

Julian straightened his clothing, a little disappointed that the
game had to come to an end so soon. The near-misses aside, there was
much he had to digest – such as the odd conversation with the
Bajoran merchant. But, he thought with an inward sigh, it would have
to wait. Pausing only to note on his data padd that at 1904, he was
summoned to the Infirmary, he made his way out of the bar, but not
before hearing Quark mutter something about how Hu-mans could be
such a pain in the lobes sometimes.

II.

"There you are." Julian briskly pressed a bio patch over the deep
puncture wounds on his patient's left arm. "This will deliver a
dosage of antibiotics directly to the area over a period of three
days. You can remove the patch after then. Come down and we'll do a
quick scan. If you need it, I'll give you a hypospray of more
antibiotics, but it's doubtful you'll need it. The wounds weren't
that deep and the dermal regenerator repaired most of the damage.
The patch is just a precaution."

Bashir looked bemusedly at the young lieutenant who was studying his
repaired arm in astonishment. "And I'd suggest that in the future,
Lt. Sands, you think twice about approaching a Bajoran vykara cub –
no matter how `cute' they may look."

"I tried to warn him." Dax, who'd accompanied the young man to the
Infirmary, leaned in the doorframe. "Maybe next time you'll listen
to me, Creighton."

"*You* tried to warn me?" The young man looked skeptical. "How? You
were *laughing*!"

"I saw it about to spring and told you to duck! It *wasn't* a
suggestion."

"Oh." His face went pale, and his gaze fell to the floor. "I must
not have heard. Karo was giving me mujba seeds to feed the cubs, and
I guess I got a little distracted . . ."

Jadzia made an odd noise in the back of her throat, and pressed a
hand to against her smiling lips. Bashir bit back a smile of his own
and clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Be thankful it
wasn't a full-grown vykara, or we'd still be attempting to pry your
arm out of its mouth. You're going to be fine, lieutenant. We'll see
you in a few days."

"Thanks, doctor." Sands threw Dax an abashed look and slunk past the
Trill, who looked about to burst with suppressed mirth. As soon as
the doors closed behind him, Julian met Jadzia's eyes and she burst
into laughter. Julian had to bite his lip hard to keep from joining
in. It'd be unseemly and very unprofessional to laugh at a man whose
injuries he'd just treated . . . even if the circumstances *were*
amusing.

"Oh, poor Creighton." Jadzia wiped tears from her cheeks. "He's
getting quite a reputation around the station. First he was stung by
that Aldavian guppy. Then the incident when the Knackian falcon took
a bite out of his knee. Now this. He'll probably never go to another
petting zoo again."

"Well, perhaps *you* were distracting him," Julian said archly,
smirking when Jadzia's expression turned innocent. "He was probably
trying to impress you by taking on the fierce, legendary Bajoran
vykara."

"Julian, please. The thing was five inches long." She grinned
lazily. "Besides, it's pretty common knowledge that the only person
Sands is trying to impress is Rek Karo. I wouldn't stand a chance."

//Rek Karo?// Julian frowned, trying to place the name. It sounded
vaguely familiar, but the only Karo he knew was a Bajoran who was
part of the station security detail, and was –

"Wait. Rek Karo?" He gaped at the Trill. "Er . . . the Rek Karo who
helped Odo make the arrangements for the Grefin peace conference
here?"

"The very same."

"But . . . er . . ." Bashir was at a loss for words. He blushed
furiously at Jadzia's widening smile. "But . . ."

"But what? But Rek's a man and so is Sands? I'd noticed. So has
everyone else on the station, believe it or not." Dax looked
amused. "Julian, don't tell me that bothers you. They are absolutely
adorable together."

"Of course it doesn't bother me!" Julian spoke heatedly, but the
blush remained. "It's just that I'd never realized that Sands *had*
a social life. He's mauled by random galaxy animals so regularly, I
don't see how he has the time."

Jadzia laughed again, and Julian felt more at ease. He liked this
nice, easy friendship he and Dax were steadily building. While part
of him regretted that they were likely never going to take things to
a romantic level, Julian was grateful that he was finally making
friends of some of his colleagues.

"Are you interested in having lunch somewhere, Jadzia?" Bashir began
storing his medkit items. "I fear I'm woefully behind on station
gossip, and I can't think of a better person to bring me up to
speed."

"Lunch?" A delicate eyebrow rose. "You're not meeting with Garak
today?"

"Ah, yes . . . well . . . we've had our lunch for this week."
Bashir's smile faded. "True, we'd had been meeting a little more
often than weekly of late, but I believe he mentioned having a lot
of work to do in the coming days."

Jadzia's expression was curious, and though it unnerved him, Julian
was also fascinated. It was if Dax *knew* he wasn't telling the
truth, and Bashir found that interesting. It was a further
confirmation that she and Garak had more than a passing
acquaintance, else, how would she know for sure whether the
Cardassian did or didn't have a backlog of orders to fill?

"Jadzia, tell me . . . what do *you* think of Garak?" Julian looked
inquisitively at the Trill, memories of Quark's and Mandra Sira
filtering back to his mind. "Do you think he is a . . ." He thought
of a few words, discarded them, and continued lamely, "a . . . nice
person?"

"Nice? Umm . . . well, Julian, to be honest, `nice' isn't the first
word that comes to mind when I think of Garak." Dax shrugged. "But I
don't think he's horrible. Don't get me wrong – I loathe what
Cardassians did to the Bajoran people, and I lost a lot of friends
in the war. But . . . Garak at least is attempting to acclimate
himself to life in a place where he's pretty much hated on all
sides."

"True." Julian felt a pang of sympathy for the tailor. He couldn't
imagine how Garak could survive at Deep Space Nine and not have gone
insane – or be in constant danger of doing so. "I don't know if I'd
be able to do the same in his place."

"I also think that Garak might not be the typical former Cardassian
foot soldier. He's very eclectic – at least by Cardassian standards.
And he seems fascinating." Her eyes were eager. "Did you know that
he speaks Klingon with a very good accent? And that he translated
the Romulan Mysteries into Kardasi for The Central University's
Yi'sed Institute on Cardassia Prime?"

"No I didn't. Well, that explains his love of literature." Bashir
said with a thoughtful look at the Trill. He'd assumed that he was
the tailor's closest – if not only – friend, but there was,
apparently so much he did not know about the man – still. Yet others
seemed to know all sorts of fascinating information about him, and
Julian wasn't sure just how he felt about that. "In all our
lunchtime conversations, none of that ever came up."

"Well, Julian, maybe you just don't know how to get a Cardassian to
open up to you." Dax's eyes sparkled, and Bashir understood he was
being teased once again. "Oh, I'm joking. I've never actually talked
to him about those things. Just tidbits I overheard while I was
trying on a new dress. I'm sure you know him *much* better than I
do."

There was a pointed quality to her words that brought color into
Julian's face. Just as he was about to what exactly she meant by it
all, her badge beeped. "Kira to Dax."

"Dax here. Go ahead, Major."

"The results from the particle scan of that tachyon field around
Rutla Five's moon are back. No one can make any sense of it. You'd
better get up here."

"On my way." Jadzia gave Bashir an apologetic smile. "We'll talk
soon, Julian. If you want, I will give you all the dirt I have . . .
and I have plenty. But I'll have to give you a raincheck on lunch
today. If these results are as muddled as I think they might be, I'm
going to be eating at Ops for the next week."

Julian faintly echoed her goodbye, staring at the door long after it
had closed behind her. With effort, he dismissed a few niggling
concerns that were taking up residence in his brain, and wandered
into the post-op bay to check on Ensign Rahkti, who was making a
good recovery from his appendectomy.

****

Promptly at 1800 hours, Garak appeared outside his darkened shop,
entered his external security code and turned his back on his now-
closed place of business. For a minute, he stood quietly on the
Promenade gazing at the crush of people who'd just arrived on
station and were looking for a good meal, a good drink, or some
other sort of diversion. After a few minutes, Garak casually walked
off in the opposite direction of Quark's and the majority of the
crowd, heading toward the far end of the Promenade that led to the
observation area.

Watching the tailor's every move was Julian, who'd been stationed
behind the same empty stall he'd discovered the day before. Julian
followed a bit slowly, allowing some distance to build between
himself and the Cardassian. The stretch between the main area of the
Promenade and the sweeping arrangement of windows that allowed a
wonderful view of the stars and the wormhole was populated by a few
stores and kiosks. Julian wasn't quite sure what to make of Garak's
heading toward that particular part of the station – the shops were
mainly Bajoran and Garak didn't seem the type who liked to star
gaze. //Ah, well, we'll soon find out what he's up to, I suppose.//

Bashir skirted the edge of the corridor, making notes on his padd as
he went, a little unnerved about how slowly Garak was moving
compared to his usual quick, confident stride. At one point, the
Cardassian actually stopped walking and stood in the middle of the
corridor, seemingly about to turn around. Julian made a quick dash
behind a support beam and stood with his back pressed to it until he
heard the footfalls resume.

//Carefully, Jules. Carefully.// Bashir moved from beam to beam,
moving as soundlessly as he was able. This continued halfway down
the dim corridor, and Julian despaired of the lack of cover toward
the entry to the observation wing when Garak disappeared inside a
small shop opposite the first of many lounge areas where station
residents sat, talked and gazed out at the galaxy.

Bashir stood where he was for a second, gnawing his lower lip as he
pondered his next move. If he stood with his back to the shops,
Garak might come out and recognize him. The seating area contained a
few high-backed chairs, but they were much too narrow to conceal all
of him, and there was nothing farther beyond except windows and open
space.

Discouraged, Julian had just about made up his mind to simply stay
behind the last support beam and wait for Garak to come out when his
eye fell on an object several meters up the corridor, half-hidden in
shadow. It took Julian a few seconds to identify the object as a
Girellian decorative vase. It was squat and wide, rather low to the
ground, but Julian knew that if he crouched, he'd probably be hidden
from view. //And it will get me a little closer to wherever it is
Garak has gone to.//

With a quick glance around to make sure no one was in the immediate
vicinity, Julian dashed for the vase at light speed, nearly tripping
over his own feet in his haste. Stumbling a little, he regained his
balance quickly, and maneuvered himself behind the piece of pottery.
Slowly rolling up on his knees, he steadied himself and peered
around the vase, surprised and thrilled that he was at an angle that
allowed him a healthy glimpse into the store Garak had entered.

The tailor was standing just inside the entryway, turning an object
over in his hands before placing it on his head. Julian reeled, and
then had to fight hard against falling over in laughter. It was a
fedora, accurate in every detail, including the brim, to ones Julian
had seen in holo-novels and holosuite programs. The terra-cotta
color of the thing added to the odd picture Garak made, but Julian
thought it wasn't a bad effect. Garak faced out toward the corridor,
and Julian was able to make out the bemused smile on the
Cardassian's face. He was looking at his reflection in a mirror
hanging near the entryway, fidgeting with the hat, setting it far
back on his head at one point, bringing it forward again and
slanting it over one eye at another. Julian allowed himself a soft
chuckle – it was terribly fitting that the station's resident "man
of mystery" would be attracted to an accessory that typified the
genre.

Bashir's amusement was cut short when something dawned on him. There
were hats and other items of all makes, colors, and sizes all around
Garak, all ranged in elaborate display. //This is Mandra Sira's
shop!// Julian's eyes widened and then narrowed when the Bajoran
woman herself appeared from somewhere in the back and greeted Garak
with a warm smile.

Sira's shop was dimly lit, but Bashir could see the woman and Garak
inside walking among her displays and talking earnestly. Bashir
typed in a short record of the time and Garak's location while
watching the scene with a certain unease. The way he smiled at Sira,
the easy way they had around each other . . . intriguing. Bashir's
forehead wrinkled in contemplation. //Could they be lovers?//

Julian thought on it some, vaguely aware that he really didn't think
that was the case. A Bajoran who likely had been in the Resistance
and a Cardassian tailor, and, some said, ex-spy, romantically
involved? Bashir was sure such information would have made its way
around the station by this time. He'd not even known Sira and Garak
were acquainted prior to the day before. That meant nothing,
however, one way or the other; he knew so little about Garak that
nothing would have come as a shock. His shadowy origins, his endless
and ever-changing stories – nothing was ever what it seemed when it
came to Garak – that's what made him so intriguing to Julian.

//*One* of the things that makes him intriguing,// Julian amended
silently with a small smile. //But then – ah, wait, what's happening
here?//

The lights in Sira's shop went off completely and in another minute,
both she and Garak were at the entrance to her shop, talking in low
voices. Julian shifted position around the base, attempting to catch
whatever bits of conversation he could. He managed to make out what
sounded like "docking bay six," and more clearly the
words "shipment" and "between 2000 and 2030 hours," but the rest was
strangely unintelligable, though very few people were passing the
area. Julian made a few surreptitious notes on his padd, his mind
whirling at the possibilities.

Docking rings three through eight were typically reserved for cargo
craft delivering goods and supplies to the station. It seemed,
Julian reflected, that Sira and Garak were discussing meeting a
freighter of some sort. It wasn't all that strange on the surface –
both of them owned businesses so it would follow that they'd be
expecting supplies to come in. But their discussing it with each
other _was_ strange to Bashir – almost as strange as their
discussing it in whispers – as if there was something more to it
than a simple retrieval of supplies.

Julian was still in contemplation mode when a garbled shout and a
rush of footsteps from the far end of the corridor caught the
attention of everyone within a five-meter radius. Julian watched
wide-eyed as a short, breathless being elbowed his way through a
family of Andorians heading toward the observation arm, and skidded
to a halt in front of Garak and Mandra Sira.

"Sorry I'm late," Quark huffed, addressing the pair. "There was a
disaster at the Dabo tables. A Retlavic trader came in with only a
strip of latinum to his name. Decided to try his luck at the wheel.
Half an hour later, he was still winning! If it hadn't been for
Rashele, er, distracting him, I'd have been ruined!"

Quark seemed about to say more, but Garak belayed him, silencing the
Ferengi with a murmur and a shake of the head. The three then
retreated into the entryway a little, huddling together and speaking
in hushed voices.

Julian strained to hear, inching around the vase as much as he
dared, but only Quark's voice assuring the others that he'd have
everything ready by 0700 the day after tomorrow was the least bit
clear. The Cardassian looked a little discomfited, but Sira appeared
content, nodding and smiling her thanks.

With a few more words to the two men, she moved off down the
corridor, turning off just before reaching the main observation
area. Quark and Garak stood talking in front of the shop for a few
seconds more before turning to walk up the corridor back toward the
main area of the Promenade. Julian waited until they were a good
distance away before following them, moving rapidly back toward the
network of support beams.

"Hey. Did you hear something?" Quark had stopped short, looking
around furtively. Julian, not quite at the beams yet, threw himself
to the floor before the Ferengi could take notice of him and crawled
somewhat awkwardly behind one of the sprawling lounge chairs.

"Huh. I guess not. I tell you, Garak, once the lobes go,
*everything* goes."

The Ferengi shrugged and walked on with Garak as the Cardassian
began speaking again. Bashir crawled in pursuit, attempting to keep
pace with the casually walking pair as he moved behind chair after
chair after chair. The padd in his hand was slowing his movements,
and after a moment of thought Julian took the thing into his mouth,
careful not to bite down too hard. It worked – he was able to creep
along more swiftly, but for all that, he was still not close enough
to hear what Quark and Garak were saying. He felt an utter fool,
too, slithering about on the floor, but he pushed that aside for the
moment, intent on tracking his quarry.

They made a sharp turn toward the inner area of the Promenade,
heading toward Quark's, and Bashir stood thankfully as they rapidly
disappeared. Wiping the padd on his clothing, he made a few more
notes, confirming that at 1856, Garak entered the Ferengi's
establishment with Quark. Bashir groaned inwardly at the thought of
monitoring Garak at Quark's again. After the night before, the
doctor wasn't sure if he'd be up to another possible round of
bussing tables.

//The glamorous life of a spy.// Julian looked in disgust at his
padd, which glistened with spittle on the underside. //Glamorous
indeed!//

He was nearly at the entrance to the bar when his badge twittered.

//Oh, for god's sake! What now?// "Bashir here."

"Doctor, you're needed in the Infirmary." It was one of his medical
technicians. "It's Lt. Sands. Again."

"Sands?" Bashir frowned. "What is the matter? Is he feeling some
discomfort in his arm?"

"No, doctor. It's a new complaint. It seems he . . . he accidentally
sat on a box of Finerian vipers. There are . . . he has quite a few
abrasions on . . . on his buttocks, and I thought that perhaps you
should –"

"Dear lord." Julian shut his eyes tight. "You did administer
antivenin?"

"Of course. But the abrasions . . . he won't, ah . . . he said he'd
feel more comfortable if you were to –"

"I understand. I'll be there directly. Bashir out."

Sighing, turned away from Quark's, more than a little disappointed
that instead of continuing his surveillance, he'd be tending to
Sands' bruised ass. And considering what Dax had told him earlier
about the lieutenant's personal life, Julian had to wonder if
Finerian vipers were really the culprit. With a thoroughly
disturbing image in his mind, he headed toward the Infirmary,
missing completely a remarkable transformation that had taken place
down the hall.

The vase that so effectively provided him cover had melted into a
mass of gold, viscous liquid. The liquid stretched upward, outward,
taking shape rapidly as Odo. Julian didn't notice at all when the
Constable entered the main Promenade area just moments after he did,
nor did he feel the Changeling's eyes on him, marking his departure
from the Promenade with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

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