-

"On the contrary, my dear Doctor. As a rule, Cardassians take their children very seriously."

"If that's so, why were you-" began Julian.

"Had my father acknowledged me, I would have become a weakness in his defenses, one that he could ill afford to have."

"So you were hidden to prevent you from becoming a target for his political adversaries?"

"That would be one way to describe the situation. Personally, I would say that I was simply inconvenient to him."

"I see."

"If you say so, Julian. Now if you don't mind, might I ask where this line of questioning is going?"

"I was just wondering if you'd ever had children."

"Me? A busy young operative that his father wouldn't even acknowledge? Hardly. -I lacked both the time and the pedigree."

"Pity," Julian sipped his tea. Garak stared at him for a moment, then caught himself and smiled.

"You have the most interesting notions. But you still haven't told me what this is about."

"It's about that little boy you found in the rubble two days ago. He had no living next of kin, so I thought-"

"NO," Garak's tone was quite firm, though his voice remained level.

"Why not?" Julian had known this was a long shot, but Garak's swift and clear refusal surprised him.

"Because he is not my son, and you cannot ask me to treat him as if he was."

"You know better than I what his life will be like without-"

"Do not presume to manipulate MY sympathies, Doctor," snapped Garak, "-there are thousands of children just like him in the refugee camps on Cardassia Prime. How are you preparing to justify saving only him?"

"It would be a start..."

"A start would be finding him a family that wants him. He is NOT MY SON. If you cannot understand why that is prohibitive, I'm afraid we have a disagreement."

"Well, than I guess we do," concurred Julian. They sat in silence for a long moment, and Julian took another sip of his tea.

"So, what's his name?"

"No-one's really been able to figure that out," Bashir admitted.

"Why not?"

"His medical files were destroyed in the bombings, and he isn't very talkative. I think it's a kind of post-traumatic shock, but there's no telling how long it will last."

"You mean he hasn't spoken at all?" Garak inferred.

"Right. He understands me, but he never replies. It's a relatively common reaction to trauma for children this age, he just has to start talking again, but still..."


"Pavsgen, patak, (Hello, child,)" said Garak. The boy looked up at him attentively, but said nothing. Garak crouched down and looked into the boy's face.

"Ayes meka cuf lamat, hi'asd, (You're still in there, little one,)" Garak tried again, "-nes 'a nu. (Talk to me.)"

The boy looked nervous, and started sucking on his lower lip. Garak was annoyed, but he didn't let any of it show on his face. While he'd sometimes told one of his prisoners that they'd broken as easily AS a child, he'd seldom had to literally FACE a child, and his methods in this case were necessarily limited. Garak and the boy looked at each other, and Garak let the silence settle over sickbay like a lead blanket. If the boy was nervous, that could be useful, and nothing heightened tension like a deliberate silence. Garak waited until the silence crystallized around them, then-

"Pah! (Boo!)" The boy jumped back, eyes wide, and started crying.

"Oh for gods' sake, Garak!" Bashir glared at him.

"Do you want me to get him to talk or not?" countered Garak, "I won't hurt him."

Julian took a long, calming breath, then let it out.

"Take it easy, will you? My idea was that he might respond better to someone of his own species, not to have him interrogated."

Garak smiled, and it had very little to do with humor.

"Of course."

There had to be a way to do this, there always was. If fear was unavailable to him, maybe an immersive approach would work. He had to remind the boy of a time when he was expected to speak, without knowing anything about his background. The boy was about five... hmmm... Garak gave the boy his hand, ready to draw it back quickly if the boy showed any biting tendencies- -like the last one.

The boy looked at his hand warily, then looked into Garak's face carefully. Garak looked friendly, and he hadn't hurt him. Maybe the 'Pah!' thing had been some kind of game... Who could ever figure out grownups, anyway?

"Cireo d'detapa odort? (What are the numbers?)" asked Garak. The boy licked his lips, but didn't answer. "Cireo d'eetapa odort?" Garak repeated. "Asd... bef... kij... lop... yuj... saq... (One... two... three... four... five... six...)"

"Der? (Seven?)" asked the boy. Garak nodded.

"Der... Jil... (Seven... eight...)"

"Plok... kol... asdkol... befkol... (Nine... ten... eleven... twelve...)" the boy recited. Garak patted the boy on the shoulder.

"Napra patak, napra. 'I, cireo ayesik kefu? (Good child, good. Now, what is your name?)"

"Nedan," the boy answered.

"Jik Garak. Tarvi grilevpar 'is Terok Nor. (I'm Garak. Welcome to Guardian Space Station.)" said Garak. He turned to Bashir. "Can you take it from here, Doctor?"

"I believe so... thank you." Bashir was impressed.

"Cireo'i nu atap? (Where's my mother?)" asked the boy.

"Nu yutl afs, (I don't know,)" said Garak, "-ere nu dayvsgen'i. Cherae corae Bashir. (-but I have to go now. Ask Dr. Bashir.) -Good day, Doctor." Garak turned to the computer console, and asked, "Salmakt, cro't? (Computer, time?)"

"Kol-kij-lopkol. (Ten forty three hours.)" answered the computer. Garak smiled, and walked out.

He hadn't lost his touch.

-