Portable problems

Gul Dukat was not a particularly happy man. His mood was evident in his heavy sigh. Moaning, he buried his head in his hands. Lifting his head up, he took a quick, almost nondescript glance around him.

Prophets, Dominion Headquarters were boring. He missed Terok Nor - more than he thought he could ever say. There was so much life and action on what was now called Terok Nor. So many different people. But, the most important factor was obviously that he was in control. Everyone listened to whatever it was that he happened to command. Not to mention the multitudes of Bajoran woman frequenting the place.

At Dominion Headquarters, though, all Dukat had to look at; to think about; to talk about, was the Founder. Weyoun. Damar. Sure, Corat Damar was his friend and his most trusted inferior. However, listening to Damar moaning about how foul the Kanar he had had recently was or how much of a failure his love life was; having to put up with the frustratingly plaintive expression of Weyoun; the Female Changeling with her flaking skin disease which made her look like a ton of Earth's autumn leaves had made a home around her person was too much. Dukat wasn't really sure quite how long he could take it.

Cardassia certainly was not spinning in his favour today.

How could it be that he topped up is mobile yesterday and now it was out of credit? He started to wonder whether or not there really was a god. The Bajorans' Prophets were really starting to lose favour with him. He picked up the device and weighed it in his hands. He unlocked it and opened the messaging application. He typed a few words and chose the receiver to be Major Kira and pressed 'send', but the phone would not oblige. It beeped at him, signifying the lack of credit. Angrily, he slammed the metal device onto the console before him.

"For the love of the Prophets!" the Gul exclaimed with easily discernible contempt.

Just as he was thinking thing couldn't get any worse for him, one of his most hated people turned up. "Dukat?" the voice asked, as annoyingly innocent and simple as ever. "Don't do that."

Dukat lifted his head up and sulkily picked up the phone. He glared at the insufferable Vorta.

"You'll scratch the console," Weyoun said scathingly. He took a PADD from a Jem'Hadar. Now, they were another group of people who Dukat found very hard to put up with. Of course, the Jem'Hadar's organisation and obedience was on a level that Dukat could only ever dream of, but that was the closest it would get to reality. Jem'Hadar were stupid clones, bred for fighting; Cardassians were unique and intelligent and each member of their race was important in their own way.

Dukat made an annoyed face as the Vorta turned away. He fiddled with his phone, flicking through applications and web pages, contacts and message threads. He looked up as Damar came to his side. "You look annoyed, sir," the Glinn observed.

Really, Damar? Dukat wanted to ask. He controlled himself. He was more than annoyed. He was more than miffed. "Damar," Dukat said firmly, holding the phone and looking him in the eye, "Just answer me this: Where does all the credit go?"

Damar smirked. "I think you know where," he quipped.

Dukat scowled at his second in command. Damar could truly be a testing man sometimes. "Damar?" he prompted the man.

Damar nodded, as if realising that he had been asked a question. "I don't know, sir. I have the same problem with mine," he explained, gesturing to his own phone as he brought it out of the pocket of his trousers.

Dukat spun his device around absentmindedly in his hand. He pursed his lips in thought. He keyed in the top-up number and called it, bringing the phone up to his ear.

"Hello and welcome to the Lakat Mobile Network top-up line. If you would like to top-up, press one."

And, so, Dukat keyed into the appropriate number, so as to ensure that the voice didn't get ahead of itself and continue asking other questions.

"You said one, is that correct?"

Dukat groaned in impatience. He brought the device back up to his ear and said tightly, "Yes." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Damar smirking indiscreetly.

"What are the first four digits of your card number?"

Dukat sighed. Again. "Four. Seven. Nine. Four."

"You said: four. Seven. Nine. Four." The computerised voice paused. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Dukat muttered, before repeating it louder, so as to spare himself the pain of going through that rigmarole again.

"What is the expiry date printed on the back of your card?" Yet another question.

Dukat thought about that question for a moment. As he sifted through the myriad of vaguely useful facts and blatantly useless knowledge in his head, he came across the information. "Stardate 4865.5."

"You said stardate 4865.5." A pause. "Is that correct?"

Dukat gripped the phone tighter, very nearly losing the will to live. "Yes," he snapped.

"Please enter the amount by which you wish to top-up." That question was salvation for Dukat. The last one. Calmly, he sighed.

Therefore, Gul Dukat entered in the amount. Twenty leks. The phone buzzed a little and the computerised voice on the other end of the line said harshly, "Your top-up has been successful. Thank you for using Lakat Mobile Networks. If you would like to-"

Dukat cut the automated voice off briskly in mid-sentence. He smiled happily to himself, and Damar raised an eye-ridge at him.

At least that was over.