DS9 Fic: The Care and Keeping of Cardassians (1)

        Doctor Julian Bashir sat at the replimat, at a table which had become more or less his favorite, as far as generic tables in unremarkable places go. He was reading a fascinating and important article from a medical journal about the effects of certain antidepressants on the telepathic ability of Betazoids. The subject matter was wonderful, but the dry academic writing style was putting him to sleep. He took another sip of Tarkalean tea, and suddenly saw a flash of green and grey out of the corner of his eye—the smooth inhuman gait of a long-limbed, scaled stranger. He set down his glass and didn’t look up.

           The owner of that gait circled behind his table, and at that point Bashir couldn’t even pretend not to notice him. He sat up straight in his chair, craned his neck to look up, to his left, and a pale reptilian face smiled down at him. Bashir couldn’t help but stare now. It was basically human in structure: the profile was roughly the same, the proportions and set of the eyes, nose, and mouth all similar enough. But the jaw, eyes, neck and forehead were ridged with scales, and the black hair which swept backward was really made up of very fine, long, thin feathers. There was something charismatic about that smile, something fascinating in seeing such a human expression on an inhuman face. But why was this tall Cardassian standing right by his chair, smiling down at him?

           He suddenly realized he’d been gaping up at this stranger with the same expression as a child staring at some huge magnificent animal at the zoo. But the Cardassian didn’t seem to mind—he looked just as delighted, one hand raised with pointed fingers spread in a graceful gesture.

           “It’s Doctor Bashir, isn’t it?” the Cardassian’s voice was smooth but tense, as if he were trying to contain himself. When he opened his mouth to speak, Bashir got a glimpse of dark lines just inside his mouth—lips so thin as to be invisible when he wasn’t speaking.  “Of course it is.” The Cardassian’s smile grew and he tilted his head slightly. “May I… introduce myself?”

           “Uh…” Bashir tried to shake himself free of the trance that had come over him at being approached in such a friendly way by such a dangerous creature. “Uhhh, yes! Yes, of course.”

            “My name is Garak,” said the creature, annunciating his name carefully so there could be no mistake. “A Cardassian by birth, obviously.” He grinned almost sheepishly. Bashir took half a second to glance at the strange green-striped shirt and red-polka-dot vest that Garak was wearing. “The only one of us left on this station as a matter of fact, so…I do appreciate making new friends, whenever I can.” Garak moved sideways around the table, smiling all the while, so Bashir wouldn’t have to crane his neck so much. Bashir looked down at the pants, tucked into strange boots designed for long paw-like feet. Cardassians walked on their toes.

           “Please, take a seat—oh,” Bashir cut off at the little breath of a laugh from the Cardassian. He got a tiny glance at Garak’s curled, scaly tail, flat along the bottom and rounded on the upper side, jutting stiffly at a downward angle from underneath the back of his suit. Of course, Garak couldn’t sit down in a human chair with an anatomy like that. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

           Garak waved it off. “No need to apologize, as long as you don’t mind me standing.”

           “No, no, not at all.”

           “There used to be some suitable chairs here, but most of them have been replaced in the past year. You are new to this station, I believe?” Garak’s voice took on a particular high, thin lilt, as if he was either greatly amused or greatly offended. Bashir wondered nervously how to reply when he didn’t know how to read Cardassian body language or tone of voice. He decided the safest route was to be as polite and straightforward as possible.

           “I-I am, yes.” Bashir smiled back with a faint exhalation of wonder. This had to be the Cardassian spy he’d heard about. Garak crouched a little so he wouldn’t tower over the table so much. Absent-mindedly, Bashir tried to brush aside the threadlike blades of grass which were tucked into a vase on the table, obstructing his view of the way Garak was blinking at him pleasantly, birdlike. The little bits of floral arrangement went right back to where they were before. Bashir caught himself and stammered on. “Though… though I understand you’ve been here quite a while.”

           “Ah! You know of me then!” Garak looked surprised and delighted, his head jutting forward a little on its long neck.

           “Uh, would you care for some of this Tarkalean tea? It’s very good.” Bashir quickly backpedaled—maybe repeating public opinion about the Cardassian wasn’t the best thing for their newly budding acquaintanceship.

           Garak’s smile faded into something less manic and more contemplative. His voice was still all silk and charisma though. “What a thoughtful young man. How nice that we’ve met!”

           Bashir lifted a hand to ask someone to order a second mug from the replicator for him, but hesitated. The few people who weren’t refusing to look his way were giving Garak dirty looks. He could go get it himself, but somehow he was afraid to move. Garak’s eyes were on him and this was an opportunity—there must be some reason the Cardassian had approached him. Better to find out what it was right away.

           “You know,” Bashir said nervously, trying to keep a normal, friendly tone, but he was oddly breathless. “Some people say that… you remained on DS9 as the eyes and… ears of your fellow Cardassians.”

           A shocked look came over Garak’s face and he put one scaly hand on the table, leaning toward the Doctor. “You don’t say!” he whispered. Then the shock was replaced by cautious, amused curiosity, his head tilting in a way which ruffled his feathery hair and reminded Bashir forcefully of a chicken trying to get a better look at a tasty grub. “Doctor… you’re not… intimating… that I’m some sort of spy, are you?”

           Bashir felt himself gaping again. Garak’s manner was invasive, threatening, but so mesmerizing that he couldn’t help but sit helpless in his seat. His mouth worked for a moment before he managed to say “I wouldn’t know.” He tacked a quick “sir” onto the end, just in case. He felt like a mouse hypnotized by a swaying cobra.

           “Ah,” Garak said softly. “An open mind. The essence of intellect.” For a moment Bashir had the uncanny feeling that Garak was secretly laughing at him. He had that sort of look in his eyes, somehow. Garak’s pink tongue flicked out to wet his very thin, dark lips, so quickly that Bashir almost didn’t see it. “As you may also know, I have a clothing shop nearby, so if you should require any apparel—or simply wish, as I do, for a bit of enjoyable company now and then…I’m at your disposal.” Throughout this sentence Garak’s smile flickered at the edges of his mouth, and there was a strangely intense undertone.

           Bashir felt distinctly that he was in way over his head. What did this dinosaur want from him? Why these strange mannerisms which in a human would be either intimidating or seductive? They obviously meant something else in this case. The Cardassian seemed to be luring him toward something, but what?

           “You’re… very kind, Mister Garak,” Bashir said unevenly.

           “Oh,” Garak protested in a low, soft voice. “It’s just Garak. Plain and simple….”

           “Garak,” Bashir said it with him, and nodded to show he’d understood.

           “Now,” said Garak, straightening to his full height and stepping sideways so that once again he loomed over Bashir. “Good day to you, Doctor.” Bashir nodded and went for a sip of tea, waiting for the Cardassian to circle back around past his chair on the way out. But the gentle footsteps stopped right behind him, and suddenly those scaly, pointed fingers were resting lightly on his shoulders. Bashir jumped, his entire body seizing up.

Garak didn’t seem to notice, his tone as friendly and enigmatic as before. “I’m so glad to have made such an…interesting new friend today.”

Bashir stared down at the long hand on his right shoulder, at an utter loss for words. Fortunately, Garak chose that moment to release him and walk away, weaving carefully between the tables so as not to disturb anything with his tail. Some of the replimat patrons glared at his back anyway. Bashir gaped after him, unable to tear his eyes from the Cardassian’s long strides. Picking up his feet and setting them down with the same predatory grace as a cat, Garak moved out of sight, but not before glancing back at Bashir. He had to turn his body a bit to do it—on the whole, Cardassians didn’t seem to be too flexible. With one last smile, Garak walked out of sight, the ridges above his eyes casting deep shadows onto them so that Bashir couldn’t read them at all.

Bashir got up from the table, jittery with excitement and fear, and rushed off to find the Captain.