Garak entered the last bolt of Gabardine into his inventory interface PADD and set it aside with satisfaction. He stepped back and glanced about his stock room with no small sense of pride. It had been almost a year since his exile from Cardassia, and in that year he had managed to grow his shop from an ill-conceived joke of Prefect Dukat's to a thriving, respected business presence on the promenade. His clientèle included fellow Cardassians and prominent aliens of note, including the notoriously finicky Ferengi. Even better he genuinely enjoyed the work. It meshed extremely well with his natural proclivity for precision and his ability to take pleasure in minutiae that others considered tedious.

Heading into the front of the store, he executed the normal opening routine on auto-pilot, lights on, one final sweep of the display area to be certain the merchandise was neatly hung and pleasingly arranged, and lastly, doors open. The sounds of the promenade enveloped him in a pleasant hum. He could almost convince himself he was part of the community at times like this, almost, but not quite. Self-delusion was the road to ruin, as Tain used to say. He had witnessed it firsthand in his original line of work enough to believe it.

Dukat's ostentatious baritone, amplified by the station speakers, cut through the crowd sounds and lodged itself right behind Garak's forehead scale in the place where he imagined irritation originated in the Cardassian brain. It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they did, all desire to tune out the annoyance drained away. Garak moved to stand in his doorway then stood as motionless as everyone else hearing the announcement.

“Denizens of Terok Nor, it is my pleasure to inform you that in the name of better interstellar relations between the glorious Cardassian Union and the varied races of the Alpha Quadrant, Cardassia is to begin an immediate withdrawal from the Bajoran Sector, turning this station and the planet below over to the governance and self-rule of the Bajoran people.�

Jubilant and raucous cheering from the prison details completely drowned out the rest of the announcement. Garak withdrew back into his shop and just to be on the safe side closed the doors. He wasn't completely taken off guard, for even though most of his contacts and resources had dried up with his exile, he still managed to monitor some of the less secure networks of the home world. Rumors had abounded for some time now of the possibility. However, he never believed that the Detapa Council would actually have its way against the wishes of Central Command. He would just about give his second molar to be able to find out how that bit of maneuvering was accomplished.

“Pleasure to inform you, indeed,� he snorted. He took great satisfaction from the thought of how much the decision must be eating Dukat alive. Any way the pompous Prefect, former Prefect, tried to spin it, this would look like a condemnation of his governance for years to come. There wasn't a napkin big enough in all the galaxy to wipe that much egg from his face.

Why was he wasting his time thinking of that fly spec? If Cardassia was pulling out of Bajoran space, didn't that mean he would be expected to do so, too? He glanced around his shop, already seeing it as little more than an afterthought. Thanks to his prosperous year, he was solvent enough to go where he chose, do what he liked. It would be dangerous, yes. There were plenty with scores to settle, not the least of whom was Tain. Still, he had been trained by the best and had already survived more assassination attempts than most of his former peers put together. Why not try to enjoy his unexpected free time?

Humming to himself, he locked his shop doors and began to disassemble his displays. He may have had every intention of abandoning the shop, but he wouldn't leave it a mess. No, he'd find buyers for everything in stock, make certain his accounts were in order, and then go who knew where? “Immediate withdrawal� was a bit of hyperbole on Dukat's part. An ordered withdrawal always took time. He had time to plan.

Within six hours, he had off station buyers for close to sixty percent of his completed stock and promises from all but one of his suppliers that he could return any unused bolts for a full refund minus a ten percent re-stocking fee. He considered calling it a day and returning to his quarters, but then he thought of what was taking place throughout the station. Getting the Bajorans deported back to the planet was just part of it.

He knew that widespread destruction of station systems and equipment would come next, and he didn't trust any of the Central Command lug heads as far as he could throw them. He wouldn't put it past any one of them to “accidentally� shoot him in the back while firing at a control panel, and if it happened, he didn't even trust that there would be much of an inquiry. He had no intention of becoming collateral damage. As much as he hated the thought of braving the tunnel to get to it, he knew his alcove was the safest place that he could possibly be.

Turning out the lights, he walked to the stock room, picked up a palm light, tripped the small floor latch, and dropped gracefully into the tunnel below. His palm light kept the disconcerting darkness at bay but did nothing to prevent the crawling sensation upon his skin from being so closely encased. He forced himself to slow down. Running was undignified when there was nothing to run from. Not all dangers come from without, he reminded himself.

Only when he was ensconced in the egg shaped cell did he allow himself to relax. It was big enough not to trigger his particular phobia, and he had spent enough time in it using the relay to monitor traffic from home that it felt almost homey. He tore open a self-heating ration pack and took a seat cross-legged on his pallet to eat it. He'd take nothing with him from this place, for he was entitled to none of it. It wasn't actually stolen, because it never left the station. It had just been creatively reassigned. He smirked to himself as he recalled how quickly Dukat bought his version of how the alcove came to be. It didn't matter that it was Tain the man feared and not him. The fear served his purposes beautifully and kept Dukat well away from his home away from home for almost a year.

With his belly full and his mind filled with possibilities for his future, he stretched out lengthwise on the hard pallet. He didn't need a computer or an alarm to awaken him. He knew how long he wished to sleep, would sleep for precisely that amount of time, and then awaken. If he was lucky, he could conclude his business in the morning, book passage on one of the ships bound to come for some of the other merchants, and leave behind this hated place without so much as a glance back. When sleep took him, it was mercifully dreamless for the first time in years.

The next morning he had to admit to himself that the mostly empty promenade was a little disconcerting. The floor beneath his feet felt different, too. He realized that he had become so accustomed to the constant vibration of the vast ore processors that it was notable only in its absence. He kept his doors closed and locked so as not to be disturbed while tying up loose ends, retreated to the back, and made some more sales calls.

A persistent chiming eventually intruded upon his awareness. Curiosity overcame annoyance. He walked to the front of the shop and all the way over to the clear doors, tilting his head upward to meet Gul Dukat's gaze. “I'm closed,� he said, helpfully pointing at the fact that his “Open� sign was not lit.

Dukat tilted his head as though he didn't understand and gestured with a finger for him to open the doors. Never in the mood for the man's idiocy, Garak nonetheless complied. The sooner he allowed the pompous windbag to give whatever parting shots he had, the sooner he could get back to his business. He stepped back to admit him. “As you can see, I'm a trifle busy. What do you need?� he asked.

Dukat strode through the doors and made a show of looking about the denuded shop in surprise. “Did something happen?� he asked Garak. “Did the Bajorans rush your store and steal the best merchandise? We've been searching them on their way out. I can assure you, I've found no such evidence, but if you'd like to file a report, I will give it my full attention.�

Oh, this really is tedious, Garak thought, even for him. “No,� he said cheerfully. “Nothing is missing. Thank you for your concern. Will that be all?�

“Actually, no,� Dukat smiled a closed lipped smile. “I would like to commission a suit. Sadly, my duties here never necessitated that I look my best, but as I am soon to go home, I want to make my wife happy to see me. I was thinking something in green and rust, perhaps? You do have the better eye for this sort of thing.�

Just what was he playing at? Garak tilted his head slightly, his mind racing. Something was very, very wrong here. “I regret I can't accommodate you,� he said mildly. “Garak's Clothier's is no longer in business. If you'd like to look at some of my remaining stock, I'd be happy to unpack it for you.�

“No longer in business?� the Gul widened his eyes as wide as they could go. “But why? Have you decided to seek employment at Quark's? Don't take this the wrong way, Garak, but you'd make a hideous Dabo girl.�

Garak blinked twice. He has lost his mind, he thought. He could think of nothing to say to the absurd assertion, so he held his silence. Where Dukat was concerned, less often served as more.

Dukat let out a slow breath, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Oh,� he said, bass tones laced with regret. “Oh, dear. You don't know, do you?�

“Clearly not,� Garak said, humoring him. “Perhaps you can enlighten me?�

The taller Cardassian's gaze took on a pitying cast. “I hardly know how to say this. Truthfully, I'm a bit embarrassed for you. It shouldn't have to come from me. You deserve better, I think, but who am I to question the head of the Obsidian Order?�

Garak wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he spat it out. Instead, he remained still and gave Dukat his best bland, patient look. Just like Klingon opera, there would be no rushing this, no matter how terrible the melodrama or how unwilling he was to witness it.

“I'm not sure why he didn't tell you himself, but I've been officially informed that you are to remain here,� Dukat continued, “and continue your services as a tailor to the Bajorans and anyone else who happens to come along to help them. Word is that the Federation might be stepping in, but I don't pay much attention to gossip.� He paused and eyed Garak closely. “Are you all right?� he asked. “You look ill.�

Garak was anything but alright, and he hardly heard the last few words Dukat said. He was still stuck on “officially informed that you are to remain here�. It was the closet of his childhood all over again, darkness closing around him, walls pressing in on him, no escape, no hope, no choice but to submit or be left to rot, only this time submitting meant just that, being left to rot.

“Garak?� Dukat said, malicious enjoyment dancing in his ice chip eyes behind the feigned concern.

Rage crawled palpably through his skull, a frisson that left him tingling from scalp to toe tip, not at Dukat, the lackey, the nobody, the blunt instrument Tain had deigned to pick up and strike him with from a distance, no; this emotion was for Tain himself. Betrayed him? he fumed silently. I wish I had killed him a long time ago. I had plenty of chances!

Dukat smiled a half smile. “I see that you need some time to yourself,� he said gently. “I'll come back in the morning to discuss the specifications for my suit, and if you don't finish it before I leave, you can just ship it to my family estate in Lakat.�

Garak watched him turn for the door. His eyes narrowed very slightly. Perhaps this blunt instrument had more than one use. Perhaps he could wrest the petty victory from Tain's hand for once and for all. It would be a Pyhrric victory, but better that than the damnation of being left behind. He waited until Dukat was at the threshold before saying very casually, “Do you wonder if he'd be ashamed of you?�

Dukat paused and looked over his shoulder. “Are you speaking to me?�

“Do you see anyone else here?� Garak asked pointedly. “Of course I'm speaking to you. I'm just curious, and given we are about to part company for what might be a very long time, I thought there'd be no harm in satisfying it.�

Dukat pivoted on his heel and settled to lean in the doorway, his arms casually folded across his breast plate. “It would help if I knew to whom you were referring.�

“Your father,� he said. He watched with satisfaction as that barb sailed and found its mark.

Dukat no longer looked amused. It seemed as though the temperature in the shop dropped a few degrees between them. “What about my father?� he asked, almost too evenly.

“Must I repeat myself?� Garak shook his head, his tone chiding. “Have it your way. Do you wonder if he would be ashamed of you?� He enunciated the question precisely and carefully this time, as though speaking to a small child.


“No,� the word came out bitten off and tight.

“I suppose it's a moot point,� he shrugged as though already bored of the subject. “He's dead, and what do the dead care or know of anything?�

“I trust that's all you have to say of this matter,� Dukat said dangerously.

Garak was far from done. “Actually, no. You see, I used to think that you and your father were very alike, but in light of this withdrawal, I'm no longer so sure.� As he warmed to his subject, his voice lilted, becoming richer. “As failures go, you have to admit this one is quite spectacular, far beyond his petty plotting behind the scenes. No, here you are, front and center in all of the action, and I have to say,� he paused for a breath, “I truly have to say I am impressed with your attitude and loyalty.

“The Detapa Council just told your superiors to bend over and take it hard, and like the good, loyal Cardassian you are, you are taking it for them with a smile on your face. Your father saw nothing but corruption and rot at the heart of Central Command. I think he'd be positively rolling in his grave at the sight of his son taking the fall without so much as a whimper of protest, but that's why he's a dead traitor, and you get to go home. Oh, it won't be a hero's welcome, and you can be sure that what they say to your face bears little resemblance to what is said behind your back, but you'll have your wife in your arms. Maybe in time you'll even manage to use her enough to scrape the taint of Bajoran females off of your—“

“That's enough!� Dukat thundered. “Not another word out of you, or so help me, I'll—“

“You'll what?� Garak spat, his volume escalating with every word. “Impotent threats, as impotent as you are to stop this travesty of a 'gracious' withdrawal, as impotent as your father was when I used a fish knife to—“

Dukat's roar was one of inarticulate fury. He launched himself full tilt at Garak, and although he could have easily avoided such an uncontrolled attack, Garak allowed it. More than that, he welcomed it, for at least this way, he'd go out on his own terms. He'd be beyond the reach of Tain's control forever, and the idiot Dukat would die an excruciating traitor's death for defying the order to leave him intact.

Pain exploded as Dukat pummeled him, blow after punishing blow. He felt and heard bone break, his nose definitely, possibly his left eye socket. Even as he endured the beating, a detached part of his mind seemed determined to catalog the damage and bear unemotional witness to his folly.

“Fight back, you worm!� Dukat bellowed, astraddle him and shaking him with fists knotted in his tunic.

Garak stared into the furious eyes swimming in his vision and smiled, his lower lip splitting further and spilling warm wetness down his chin. Barely hanging onto consciousness, he let his eyes roll back. The detached watcher in his mind told him the end would be soon at the rate things were going. Focusing again, he saw Dukat's eyes narrow and the madness of fury retreat, replaced with something calculating and measured. No, he thought. Don't let him start thinking. Not now. He tried to say something to coax the anger back, but his vocal chords refused to cooperate. He managed nothing more than an inarticulate moan.

Dukat lowered him prone to the floor and released his tunic, going so far as to smooth the rumpled fabric before lifting his weight from him and standing up. Impossibly tall from that perspective, he looked down on Garak with contempt. “I almost forgot something very important,� he sneered sardonically.

“Mmnnhaahh?� Garak tried to ask, not that it mattered anymore. Like Dukat, he had failed his objective. The rest was just window dressing.

“I owe you my life,� the Gul replied, dulcet toned. “I couldn't possibly kill you. It goes against the very foundation of our society, and as you so eloquently reminded me earlier, I am a patriot. Consider the debt paid. I wish you a long, healthy life, Garak. I can think of no one who deserves it more.�

Dukat disappeared from his view as he stepped away. The steady tread of his boot heels retreated, out of the shop and soon out of the range of Garak's hearing altogether. Garak waited until he was quite certain he was alone before closing the one eye not swollen shut and giving rare release to slow, silent tears. He had never felt more forsaken, and it was a bitter, bitter dreg to swallow.