Miles was in trouble, that was for certain.
He's stuck in a corrupt world where violence and opression is the norm and compassion is a liability.
And just to put the cherry on the proverbial cake, Kira was a sadistic femme fatale, Julian was bitter, Odo was a taskmaster, He didn't even know who Sisko and Dax were here, though they were probably no better...Or were even worse.
And him? Who was the Miles Edward O'Brien of this damned place?
A violent, obsessive pariah out to kill his own counterpart.
O'Brien wouldn't have been as nervous as he was now if Smiley hadn't come and given him a death threat.
Of all of the accidents, the bullshit, the problems that seemed to follow him as though he was the universe's freakin' chew toy...
This was the shit-stopper.
And even worse, he couldn't even think of how it happened. One minute he's working on the computer diodes at Ops, next thing he knows, he's Transported to this nightmare.
It wasn't the ODN Relays. And this wasn't a time-travel incident, so Chroniton particles weren't the problem...Besides, those were routed towards the Transporters and Warp Cores, not tactical computers like the ones in Ops.
For once, Miles could not justify his predicament with any technobabble of any sort.
Instead, he decides to stop thinking about it, leaning back across the sorry excuse for a bed the cell had.
"I wonder what Captain Sisko and the others on my world are doin'. Are they lookin' for me?" Miles asks himself. "How long will they look? And Keiko, oh God Keiko. Who knows how she's takin' it..Probably didn't tell Molly and Yoshi about it yet, they're just kids. They don't need that kinda stuff loomin' over their shoulders yet..But then again, Molly's old eneough to know when somethin's wrong...And Julian? Heh, probably runnin' around in circles."
A blip in the forcefield surrounding his Cell interrupts his contmplation, causing the man to sit up.
There he sees Odo...Well, THIS Odo anyway, working the Holding Cell controls.
"Enjoying our...hospitality?" Odo asks evilly, a smile on his face.
"Should start chargin' for rooms." Miles responds sarcastically.
"Your'e free to go...for now. I have nothing to charge you with. The Captain wants you to meet with him later." Odo says. "What you do in the meantime is not my problem."
Odo ushers Miles out of the Cell as the forcefield behind his cell door re-instates with a BLIP.
"You worked on your own station, you shouldn't need a tour." Odo says. "Just don't do anything stupid, and we will not have anymore problems...I'd rather not have to drag you back here again."
Miles, not in the mood to humor the Changeling, begins to leave the room.
"Try not to get yourself killed..." Odo says mockingly from behind Miles.
"I'll keep that in mind." Miles says as he finally leaves the Holding Cell Area, muttering "...Tool."
Miles could tell the moment he walked on the Promenade just how different this world was.
It had a seedy atmosphere to it...People looked at each other suspiciously and pushed past one another as if in a constant hurry; Yelling could be heard in the distance. Miles walked (rather shoved) his way past the groups of people to the one familiar place he could relax in...Quark's.
Or...Should he say...Rom's?
Miles saw the overhead sign had Rom's name on it instead of the yellow neon sign that he was used to seeing on HIS OWN station.
CRASH!
Miles' eyes dart to the entrance to the bar as a Ferengi man falls headfirst onto the ground.
"You call this a Romulan Ale?" A deep, bold voice says from inside the bar. "This might as well be mud off of the ground!"
The Ferengi pulls himself up as footsteps start shuffling towards th entrance.
Miles half-expected Klingons to come out of that area, but no.
Humans...Or according to this world, 'Terrans.' From what he's seen, was there really any difference between them and the Klingons at this point?
Two of them. One was a big, strapping fellow; About 5'4, blond hair. The other was thin and spry, 4'8, black hair. Miles could see the bloodlust in their eyes.
The Prime Directive told him never to interfere in a world's affairs. And part of him wanted to stay out of it. But this was another universe. And the Prime Directive never mentioned other dimensions, did it?
Miles pushes past spectators, running up to the downed Ferengi.
Upon close inspection, it was obvious who it was. Quark.
"Quark?" Miles asks, kneeling down to inspect Quark's head, which had hit the ground pretty hard.
"Oh, wow..." Quark says, looking up to see Miles staring back down at him.
"You alright?" Miles asks.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Quark says.
"Hah. Aren't we kind?" One of the Terrans says. "Ferengi aren't worth anything. Why waste your time? If you ask me, they're nothin' but big-earred freaks..."
Miles turns to look up at the Terran who had mouthed the sadistic comment.
"Nobody asked you for your input. Besides, who the hell are you to say somethin' like that?" Miles says. He actually already knew where this was going. The Terran would mention how Humans were superior here, Miles would respond, and a fight would break out. Miles' brain mentally prepared itself for an impact of any kind.
"Oh, please." The thin Terran standing next to the larger one says. "Ferengi exist as two things...Bartenders and punching bags. And they suck at even THAT."
"If you didn't like your drink, why didn't you just order something else?" Miles asks icilly, getting off of his knee and resuming an upright position.
The big Terran walks closer to Miles, getting in his face. Miles could smell the Alchohol coming from his breath. He was drunk. What, they didn't invent Synthohol in this universe?
"I didn't WANT something else...I wanted Romulan Ale."
"Well, then." Miles says. "Here's something..."
Miles rears back a punch, letting his left hand fly into the Terran's face.
"...On the house!"
The force of the punch blows the big Terran back towards one of the tables. Miles could hear the people shouting in the background...And it disgusted him even more. Interested onlookrs were understandable, but here all they did was beg for more like it was some freak show or Vole fight. People in HIS world would've just ran away. Were there ANY morals around here?
The big Terran hits one of the tables as the fight moves inside of the bar itself. Those muscles were probably just for show...And bigger than his brain.
As his big friend's body slinks to the floor, unconcious, Miles sees the thin one pull out a Terran-issued Dagger, just like the ones Smiley and Julian were wielding back in the Transporter Room during their argument.
The thin Terran slashes and stabs at Miles, running back and forth everytime he thrust.
As a Starfleet officer, (And frequent user of both Worf's Callisthenics programs and various historical battle programs) Miles was trained for combat situations like this.
The thin one was armed, but that's all he was. Whatever sort of combat training most Terrans went through in this backwards place was either foreign to Miles' current enemy or was lost to the effects of Romulan Ale. Or most likely, both. The man had no eye for battle at all. He thought the knife alone was all he needed.
After a third thrust attempt, Miles catches the Terran's knife arm and puts the appendage in a grapplehold, causing the knife to drop to the ground and the man to scream in pain.
In a quick flash, Miles releases the man and knocks him out with a two-handed haymaker to the back of the head.
The thin Terran's body falls flat onto the ground, ending the show.
Miles breathes in and out rhythmically to calm his body down.
He looks around; The crowd of people watching the 'show' begins to dissipate with disappointed voices and sluggish speed. They were expecting more of a show. Miles didn't care. He wasn't trying to appease their egos.
Miles walks towards Quark, who was still laying where he fell, clutching his head with his right hand.
This happened a lot in Miles' world, but the parties responsible were usually Klingons. And even Klingons had a sense of honor to them. Even though relations between them and the Ferengi were less than cordial, they weren't anywhere near as harsh as these guys were. Well, that's if your'e looking at things from a Klingon perspective, anyway.
Miles extends his right hand to the hapless bartender as he pulls Quark to his feet.
"Thanks for that." Quark says, looking down at the broken glasses and spilled Ale under his feet. "Great...Rom's gonna kill me. Ale like that is expensive..."
"You need any help?" Miles asks. Usually he would've just left Quark be. The Quark he knew was pretty resourceful. But...different dimension, different rules.
"No, no. I'm fine." Quark says, looking Miles in the face for the first time. "Hey uh, why don'tcha come in?"
"Um, I'm actually..." Miles asks.
"No, I insist." Quark says, putting his left arm around Miles back in a friendly gesture. "I will not take 'no' for an answer."
"Sigh...Fine." Miles says as the Ferengi directs him into the bar, ushering him towards a bar-stool.
Oddly enough, it was the stool right next to Morn's.
And sure enough, there was the famous Tellarite sipping his usual order.
Miles was tempted to say 'hi,' but stopped himself. This wasn't HIS Morn. Something in the back of Miles' gut was telling him not to say a word.
Miles sees Quark dash behind the table, re-appearing with a bottle.
"So, what can I get you?" Quark asks Miles with a happy tone.
"Um, I don't have any money..." Miles says.
"Hey, after what you did for me, it's on the house." Quark says with a smile. "I don't care how much Rom's gonna hound me about it. So, what'll you have?"
No obsession with profit...?
Definitely not HIS Quark.
"Just a Synthale, if you've got it." Miles says shyly.
"A Synthale?" Quark asks. "Awfully tame, but ok."
After about half a minute, Quark gives Miles a glass filled with clear liquid.
"Thanks." Miles says. "So...What was all that about?"
"Ah, Just a couple of drunks out to prove themselves." Quark says. "This isn't anything new. Fights happen around here all the time. The blood is always hard to get off the tables..."
"This station's a shithole..." Miles says.
"That's an understatement." Quark says with a sigh, resting his hands against the table. "The Terran Empire's full of savages, assholes, and nutjobs, I tell you. But they're the only paying customers in the Alpha Quadrant aside from people coming in from the Gamma Quadrant...And most of them, you never see again. I feel sorry for you, pal. You just came here by a chance Transporter accident; Be lucky you didn't grow up here. Either way you look at it, Fortune isn't smiling on you today."
"How do you know I'm an outsider?" Miles asks, narrowing his eyes. He was probably overreacting, but his time in this universe was to blame for that.
"I hear things..." Quark says. "Plus, if you were the real Smiley, you'd have been laughin' and gawkin' at me like those two bozos were...Ignoring the fact that you aren't wearing a Terran uniform. The only reason that lunatic's kept me alive all these years is cause Odo's ordered him to...And all Odo wants to do is mess with me."
He might as well ask.
"What's his story, anyway?" Miles asks, taking a sip of his Synthale.
"Who, Odo?" Quark asks.
"No, not Odo. Smiley." Miles says, putting the glass back on the table.
"Oh, boy...Where do I start?" Quark replies.
"At the top." Miles replies.
Miles notices Morn leave his stool a second after; but doesn't address it.
"Well, he was just an average Joe...Accordin' to rumors, he was a mechanic. He was the nicest guy you could ever know. Wouldn't harm an Andorian fly-beetle. But for some reason, I guess 'cause he was so good with technology, the Empire got it's hands on 'im. They had him go to the Imperial Academy, but he flunked his tests on purpose so they'd let him go. It didn't work."
"If he failed his tests, then why is workin' for them now?" Miles asks.
"Because..." A voice says, causing Miles and Quark to turn their heads towards the entrance.
There stood Elim Garak, whom Miles knew in his own world as a former Cardassian operative who became the station's tailor. Here, who the hell knows?
"...The Empire was working on a way to cure mental diseases and illnesses in an effort to counteract Terrans' backstabbing habits; Smiley was one of the Terrans plotting against his superiors. Or so the official stance on the subject is. In reality, they were trying to research and test ways to control the minds of individuals through memory modification, to make them more loyal to the Empire, as most Empire soldiers are intensely conditioned and trained to become the cold killers most know them to be...I put an emphasis on 'conditioned,' mind you."
"This is Elim Garak, an associate and friend of mine..." Quark says.
Miles already knew Garak...Well, HIS Garak...But he was too shocked by Smiley's origins to say anything just yet.
It felt strange...Like he WAS actually talking to the Garak of his world.
Again, Miles kept his mouth shut...About THAT, anyway.
"So, you're telling me Smiley was conditioned by his own government to be some assassin?" Miles asks.
"As both a punishment and precaution. After all, what one learns in the Academy is top-secret to non-Empire personnel, so they can't very well let a rogue student run free; The implications of revealing inner workings of the Empire would be catastrophic. As for the experiment, well...To say it succeeded would only be a half-truth." Garak says. "He became a loyal dog of the Empire, but for some reason, it devastated his mind in the process, turning the 'loyal dog' rabid. That loyalty to the Empire and his retainment of his skills with machinery are the only two reasons he's kept on a loose leash instead of put down...Needless to say, his insanity lets him get away with things more common Terrans get killed for...Like I said, he's on a VERY LOOSE leash. I envy him. To have such freedom in a power that stifles it. Some people have all the luck."
Miles wanted to know why and how these two knew so much; but then again, why punch a gift horse in the mouth?
"So they're more than willing to make a homicidal lunatic into their Chief of Operations?" Miles says, exasperated.
"Yes." Garak says, sitting next to Miles. "The logic of it escapes me, but that's the truth of the matter."
"If you're on his naughty list, he won't be checking it twice." Quark says. "Your days are numbered."
"Oh, no pressure." Miles says sarcastically. "What time is it?"
"Almost nineteen-hundred, why?" Quark asks.
"I need to be somewhere." Miles says.
"Kira or Sisko?" Garak asks.
"What?" Miles asks.
"Which one wanted you to meet with them?" Garak asks.
"Both of them, but Kira asked first while I was screaming my ass off in that...Booth of theirs." Miles says.
"They do this to every new officer and foreigner that comes waltzing onto the station." Quark says. "This little 'cold war' of theirs has been goin' on for months..."
Quark extends a hand and pats Miles' right shoulder.
"You have my sympathies." Quark says. "My advice? Just smile and nod...But your'e gonna have to choose a side sooner or later. And when you do...I recommend going with Sisko...Because you do not want to piss him off under any circumstances. Granted, having either one of them mad at you is dangerous, but Sisko, well..."
"What's so important about him?" Miles asks.
"Sisko has Smiley's complete loyalty..." Garak says. "It would only take a single order and you're counterpart will carve you up like Swiss cheese. With Sisko on your side, Smiley cannot and WILL not touch you. Plus, Sisko has more resources. Maybe he can find a way to send you home."
"Or use your homesickness against you..." Quark says.
Miles says nothing more, leaving the two to their machinations.
Garak turns to Quark as Miles begins to leave.
"You always seem to be the one cloud in a sunny sky, Quark." Garak says.
"Experience has made me insightful..." Quark says. "So, what did you wanna see me about?"
"Remember that object we discussed?" Garak asks.