Destinies, Part 3
Paying the Piper
A sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Julian Bashir, Miles O'Brien, Ezri Dax, Ben Sisko, William Ross, Elim Garak, Luther Sloan, Kira Nerys, Kai Winn, Worf, Jules, Kukalaka, Quark, Vic, Odo, William Ross, Kassidy Yates, Damar, Jake Sisko, DS9 and the cannon portions of the trek universe are the property of Paramount Studios. Jaro Sarre, Garak's "customers", Dr's Rand, Halbert, and Russel, Lt. Barnes, the man in the new suit, and the planet Zas'sanna are mine.
This story uses background originating in Paula Stiles story "Isolation", which was posted on the usenet group alt-startrek-creative.
I wish to offer a special thanks to my beta readers, Paula Stiles, Matt Edwards, and Catharine Hansen, who offered many good suggestions which have made this complex story better.
Part 1 - Truth and Lies
Acknowledgments: Les Misarables, a novel by Victor Hugo
Chapter 1
Elim Garak had been released from the infirmary a day before, still suffering from bouts of sudden exhaustion. He hadn't yet opened his shop, but had taken the day to organize it in preparation for the next morning. Nobody had touched anything. Everything in the shop was familiar, but as if from a distance. No matter what actual time had elapsed, for Garak it had been a long time since he'd been here.
Poking behind a stack of fabric in his storeroom, he heard the sound. A vole had taken up residence and Garak had disturbed it. With a notable squeak, it ran away.
He froze. For a flash he wasn't there, no longer on the station. He was standing in a cave, with a gun at his head. Bashir was as good as dead already. He soon would be joining his friend. He heard the shot. Shivering, he came back to his shop and collapsed on the stack of fabric. Taking deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down. It hadn't been real. It could not have been. He was alive to remember it. But he knew that particular nightmare would never leave him. He took out one of the padds he'd been given and tried to work but was still too disturbed by the memory to do anything with it. He put it away.
Starfleet Intelligence had already been in contact with more padds on the way by special courier. The temporary CMO had refused to allow contact until his official release. They'd kept him longer than they needed to just to treat his few physical problems. But they'd noticed the nightmares, and his withdrawn state of mind. They'd tried to get him to explain. But Garak never intended to tell anyone what it had felt like when the gun had fired and death had been certain. He would have someone get rid of the voles. Standing in his shop, surrounded by the fabrics that he was so skillful at manipulating, he felt in control.
He'd only seen Bashir in glimpses, the doctor confined behind a wall of machines in the intensive care unit, and he was concerned about his fate. Still, Bashir had drawn him into that hell. Garak had his nightmares, but he kept them quiet. He thought Bashir would understand the resentment he felt over having this inner demon become so public. But he would tread carefully. He'd seen the look in Sisko's eyes.
He'd been there when Sisko had marched into the infirmary, and seen the fear in his eyes as he had lit into Bashir. The doctor hadn't said a word, still too sick to get out of bed. Garak knew Sisko had no business being there. He should have waited until Bashir was more recovered, and at least tried to look more impartial. Garak was unsure if he felt sympathy or satisfaction for the doctor. Sisko's actions were far too close to revenge, and it deeply intrigued Garak.
He decided to have a quiet lunch in his shop. He remembered when Julian Bashir, secret agent, had shot him in that ridiculous James Bond world. That was the first time Bashir had made Garak doubt his judgement. Zas'sana had been the second. He'd expected to die. He still went to sleep, if he could, wondering what reality would be there when he woke. But no one would ever know. Garak would keep the secret. He would never allow Bashir to know how badly he'd been hurt. But he would remember.
Something had happened to the doctor in the last year that had changed him, and Sisko knew what it was. Garak wanted to know, but would proceed with extreme caution. He was already aware that his friend could be a very dangerous man. He was not entirely certain that the good doctor had not already become just that.
He finished his lunch, sitting the dishes aside, and sorting a shipment of new fabric which had recently arrived. He forced himself to think about dresses, and how the fabrics would have to be cut to fall just right. He was looking forward to the simplicity of it when a noise broke his concentration and someone came in the shop.
"I'm still closed," he said to the man, dressed in Starfleet uniform with a small emblem representing the judge advocate's office.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, but we needed to review your deposition and I hadn't had a chance yet."
He said it with perfect ease, but Garak knew. The first thing he'd done was review the records of the people they'd sent. This one might be working with the office, but that wasn't who he was working for.
"Certainly," said Garak pleasantly. "I was just sorting this shipment, if you don't mind."
"Go right ahead," said the agent for someone. He and Garak traded phony smiles. The tailor let his visitor begin.
"Let me do a quick review," he said. Garak had picked up a fabric that shimmered in translucent blues and greens. It was lovely, and both men paused. "That is wonderful. If I gave you the details, could you make my wife a dress? I'd love to surprise her."
Garak smiled at him, somehow doubting he had a wife. A mistress perhaps, but he recognized the technique. It was meant to catch him off guard. There was really no need. Garak intended to cooperate fully. "Certainly, and when you have the time look at my file of styles."
"I'll do that." Garak wondered if mention of the dress had been an honest interruption, from the way the man continued to gaze at the fabric. But he was soon back to business. "You and Dr. Bashir were trying out a new holodeck program, something 'special'."
"Yes," said Garak moving fabric around without real purpose. "I was quite intrigued."
"You were concerned about the safeties, but you continued in the program." His tone was smooth and calm.
Garak shrugged. "There was little choice. By the time it got dangerous, Dr. Bashir was rather ill and it would not allow me to shut it down."
The man looked at Garak, his face full of personal concern. "Would you say your friend was in an odd sort of mood?"
Garak put down the fabric and stepped forward. "He was in a very distracted mood. I nearly called it off fearing he was ill."
It was the right answer. "His illness, it was very sudden?"
Garak confirmed it. "I believed so at the time, though in reflection he was rather disoriented before. I was unaware of how fast the symptoms could appear."
The man nodded. Garak knew what they wanted him to say now. He'd go along because he found them too dangerous to toy with, at least this openly. Bashir would be excused because he was sick. He was still confined to his quarters, and under medical orders to rest. But he had friends.
But most of all, Garak wondered if he knew how careful his new friends would be to insure that Sisko's expected revenge would fail.
o0o
Benjamin Sisko stared at the alien curves of his quarters, so different from those on Starfleet built stations. He could still remember how strange it had been at first. But now, it was home and its unique shapes a comfort. He had become a part of the mixture of cultures on his beautiful station, and it's diverse cultural mix was also his home now. And he had come to belong to the Bajoran culture, pushed closer every time Starfleet hinted at their disapproval. He didn't know which of his identities really was the strongest anymore. He was still a Starfleet officer, but his heart was here.
Especially at night when the days events were done and he could relax in his quarters, he considered those who'd emigrated from country and family to take a new start, so often repeated in the history of his home planet. Had they felt the same ambivalence, sitting in their homes with their families in the wilds of Canada, or the dusty plains of America, or the Australian outback? Perhaps those crowded into the cites of 19th century America had even shared the feeling. There would always be a tie to home, and a loyalty to the culture of birth. But it just wasn't home anymore. This place he'd come to was home now. Bajor had given him back his life. He mattered to these people, and they mattered to him.
What did they do when they had to choose, he wondered? Did the question hurt as much for those of old as it did for him? What would he do when the time came to pick which to give his loyalty?
As the war started to inch towards the end, discussion of Bajor's future had again begun. Except it wasn't working out the way Starfleet and the Federation assumed. Not everybody thought it was a good idea to join. The Federation's envoys were getting nervous. Those in opposition, fearing they'd end up abandoned, were growing stronger. He had carefully balanced between the two for such a long time. Eventually, he would have to pick one or the other.
The long, quiet night wore on, and he thought about the consequences. The ones who wanted Bashir had also managed to badly intimidate Garak, and Garak shouldn't have reacted that way. Now all the details were be being carefully rewritten. Who of his own could he trust? Would he ever be able to believe they were still loyal? And if there was someone running the show, all he hoped was it be someone who had some control over the doctor.
But as the long night drew to a close, another thought came to mind. He preferred his own life to Bashir's. He was certain that suspending the safeties hadn't been part of the plan. It had ended very publically and been very messy. Sisko was sure whoever he belonged to didn't like that.
If Sisko had done nothing, Bashir would still be punished. Except these people would not be so gentle. He had the feeling their discipline would be remembered long after he'd forgotten Benjamin Sisko.
But Ben hadn't been sleeping well, contemplating the growing uncertainty all around him. He couldn't get to sleep. But that wasn't what kept him awake that night. It was the enigma named Julian Bashir and the worry that Benjamin Sisko wasn't the only one who's loyalty had already begun to shift and the dangerous place it could take them all.
o0o
The woman from the Judge Advocates office had insisted on a meeting that evening. She'd had all the depositions at hand. She hadn't bothered to hide her feelings that it was all a waste of time and was his fault. He hadn't bothered to mention the odd questions that had been so carefully explained away. He didn't dare tell her what had driven him to forcing the situation.
When Bashir had come to them, still stunned by the kidnaping and interrogation he'd been put through, he'd made his first mistake telling Bashir to go along. What had he been thinking? How could he have forced Bashir to betray what he believed in? But all had been lost in the lists of dead and the fear that it was only the beginning of a greater darkness.
It wasn't until Bashir had come to him that night with his threat that he'd understood. By then it was too late. The genie was out of the bottle and he couldn't catch it again. Bashir was no longer under his control.
He still remembered the message that Bashir and Garak were in the infirmary, Bashir seriously ill. He'd stayed away, instead gathering information. He'd been worried about what the doctor might do. When he was well enough to talk, Bashir had admitted suspending the safeties. Sisko hadn't been able to resist the chance to assert his own authority.
Were it anyone else, a reprimand would have been enough. But, like that first mistake, he'd just reacted. He was sure no one else had seen it, but he'd never forgotten the cold look Bashir had given him that night. There had clearly been a threat implied in his tone. He still dreamed about the anger he'd seen in the cold eyes. The charges had made him feel in control. He'd forced the issue when Bashir was still rather sick, and vulnerable. He could not forget the look in the doctor's eyes when he'd laid out the charges. Bashir despised him. Worse was Garak, who had just watched, not saying a word, not even reacting to the tirade. It must have taken a lot to shake him up that badly.
Even walking out of the Infirmary, Sisko had felt a few doubts. Since then, the doubts had turned into worries. Bit by bit everything had been explained. Someone was manipulating the stories into a perfectly fitting puzzle. They were protecting Bashir. He had done nothing but drive the doctor further away.
As the long, quiet night wore on, he thought about the consequences. Whoever was behind this had badly intimidated Garak, and was handily reconstructing all the details. He wondered who of his people was with them. He hoped it was someone who had some control over the doctor.
But as the long night drew to a close, another thought came to mind. He preferred his own life to Bashir's. He was certain that suspending the safeties hadn't been part of the plan. It had ended very publically and been very messy. Sisko was sure whoever he belonged to didn't like that.
If Sisko had done nothing, Bashir would still be punished. Except these people would not be so gentle. He had the feeling that he would remember their discipline long after he'd forgotten Benjamin Sisko.
o0o
Bashir knew he wasn't in his quarters before he opened his eyes. The bed was too lumpy. The room was too cold. The noises were all wrong. It would fit several places, none desirable. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.
"I thought we would have to wake you," said Sloan, cutting through the fog of sleep. He was in a small plain room, probably a detention area. The lights were too bright.
"I'm awake," he muttered.
Sloan moved to where he could see his face. "And you were worried about Captain Sisko's little punishment," he said. "Of course, the good captain is making it personal. I can assure you that is not my motivation," he finished. Julian said nothing, worried and a little disoriented. "Do you know how lucky you are?" asked Sloan, studying him with a cold appraising look. "Do you have any idea how close you were to dying? Fortunately, the doctor I sent knew what was wrong with you. Nobody will know you didn't have that fever from Abersand Station again."
He took a deep breath, shaken despite his control. He hadn't suspected the doctor. He'd been too normal. "I'll thank him," he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
Sloan shook his head. "You need not worry, Doctor. The hearing will decide that you and Mr. Garak accidentally walked out of the working holosuite to the malfunctioning one and were both stunned by a random charge." Julian only looked away, very aware of his mistake. Sloan fixed an uncompromising stare on him. He squirmed under the gaze. "You received direct orders to leave the safeties in place. You decided for some reason to disobey them. I'd say you are very lucky."
He was nervous. "Garak had to believe it was real."
"Yes, he did. But he would have come to believe just as quickly with the safeties on. That was why you were ordered to leave them in place. Even if the results were not so messy, it would still be necessary for you to be disciplined. I do not tolerate disobedience."
He was still off duty, confined to his quarters, and a severe reprimand had been put in his records. Quark had been unhappy about his holosuite being torn apart, and he didn't know if he was still welcome in the bar. But none of that had any meaning when he compared it with the sort of discipline he would receive from Sloan. The icy stare scared him, knowing what the man was capable of. "I trust you won't disobey orders again," Sloan said.
"We've played a lot of games, even dangerous ones. The safeties would tell him it was a game. He wouldn't be himself." It was almost the same reason he'd given Odo and the others. At the time it had been his real motivation. He didn't want to lie to Sloan.
"Undoubtedly, but it remains that you'd been specifically ordered to use them. Before you leave here, you will understand that I mean my orders to be obeyed."
Julian felt a chill run down his spine. "I understand," he said nervously.
"That isn't enough." Sloan gave him a hard stare. "You'll believe when I'm done." Sloan smiled a little, and he motioned someone forward. The new arrival was holding a hypo. "Until later, Doctor," he said, stepping back. The man with the hypo advanced, and touched it to his neck. He relaxed, and fell unconscious instantly.
o0o
Ben had been lightly dozing when the notification came, and he woke instantly. Sitting and waiting as the official screen cleared, he was somehow not surprised that it was Ross.
"I hear you've been trying to interfere with the investigation concerning Bashir," he said, not bothering to pretend.
"I insisted on seeing Bashir. I shouldn't have then. But the doctor hadn't informed us of just how sick he was."
"It doesn't matter, Ben. The people doing the investigating know, or they'd have questioned him. If the story I heard was true, then either is currently employed as a spy or we have a sleeper in our uniform. Or it was some sort of mistake, and a faulty holosuite. That isn't your problem to decide. If you get in the way, someone might make sure you can't again."
He knew Ross, and had trusted him before, but now didn't know if he should. Or if the ones really running the charade had something on Ross and he was making sure they lost it. "All I want to know is what happened. If you think these people can find out then I'll back off. But honestly, I don't know who to trust anymore."
Ross looked uncomfortable, and his guess would be the conversation was private. "Maybe it's better not to know. And while I'm at it, we need to talk about Bajor soon."
It wasn't going to help to remind him of that. "It would be better if we could talk personally," he said.
"After this mess is done I'll do that. But you know what we need, Ben. You know you have influence. And I suspect your not using it."
He wondered how much more Ross knew about the ones running Bashir's circus than he'd let on again. Of if he'd trust the answer. "Or you think I have more influence than I have." Or, he thought, if he was willing to use it.
"Possibly we do. But get this first mess over and we'll talk." Ross was tired and had had his say and Ben was equally tired.
It was going to get over with our without him, but he doubted he'd make a difference. "I assume after the hearing ends, it will be."
"Good. Get some sleep. You look like you need some."
He said nothing as the screen went blank and given that his own loyalty was now in question, wished Bashir luck and hoped there was some left for him.
o0o
end part 1/chapter 1