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There are only five seconds left before they call his name. Julian stands there the words written on the PADD nervous, his palms sweaty. He doesn’t need the PADD. Miles had joked that he could likely recite the entire Canterbury Tales with that “positronic brain” of his. Julian had smiled at that, had laughed. Hard bitter laughter as he watched Miles standing in front of everyone reciting a handful of limericks amidst cheers and catcalls. He had a fantastic talent for it, Julian discovered. Captain Sisko had proposed an evening of poetry recitation, original preferably but anything was welcome. He'd been inspired by a literary dream he had and Julian was reluctantly recruited to join. Captain Sisko said it might be therapeutic, cathartic to express himself in verse. Garak had teased that his dulcet tones might inspire his romantic life should he woo the crowd in Quarks. Julian had laughed again at that. He’d asked Garak if he intended to present any pieces and Garak merely smiled enigmatically and said that poetry reads on Cardassia were a horse of a different color and demurred. He assured Julian he would attend though to cheer him on.
Julian sees him when he steps up nervously, clearing his throat. Everyone is in such good high spirits. He’s sure he’s about to ruin that. Hell, why not. He’s got nothing left to lose. He just hopes Captain Sisko doesn't hold it against him when he finishes.
“So who here knows what their life is worth?
Show of hands? Paws? Show me all yours-
No takers?
Right.
None of you are fakers.
Not like me, yeah?
None of you are forced to hide your pride
and none of you were broken down inside
and rebuilt like a rained on rusted machine out of your shit father’s dream
And it’s funny because I was told once you knew-
once the cat was out cat got your tongues just long enough-
I’d be on to the good happy stuff
But like my father, like Garak, like every other liar who lies like he breathes
who treats truth like disease, who I have to appease, who sees
nothing but some smug number crunching adding machine
you’re all too keen to demean
because I’m changed, deranged, with a positronic brain!
I’m privileged! I know, I’ve got gifts
I’ve got shits! I’ve got a million fucking rifts
I’ve got friends who don’t care I’ve got people who stare
I’ve got whispers I can hear I’ve got fear I’ve got fucked in the rear
And my father? Richard Bashir? He got two fucking years!
Let me tell you about my privilege then
while you think that I think that I’m God’s gift to men
Imagine this child, this life laid out perfect route
‘cept you’re slow and you’re weak you can barely speak
and your old man says you’re not enough and he’ll fix you up right
You’ll have the world in your hand you’ll have brains, you’ll have sight
And then you live just long enough to see through their lies, see through that disguise
see them like you when you’re like them, but otherwise
say that you never shut up when you old man only ever said
speak up speak out we’ve got money in this head!
And you know what’s in this head? It’s bright lights, loud noise, and boys
and girls always out of your reach because you can’t bloody teach
an android how to be a person people miss when it ceases to exist!
So tell me Chief, how much better it was when Julian Bashir was a fucking sludge!
And tell me that my life is worth no more- than months in a Dominion Prison tour!
And tell me, Garak that you like me better before
then turn around and shove me back down when I’m telling you I’m going to drown
and tell me I don’t need a hand because I can do anything a goddamn Vulcan can!
Why don’t I tell you all then what my life is worth?
My father once told me his every dream since his birth was on my back like the turtle holding up Earth
Well I can’t hold the world when I can’t even hold my head high
I can’t hold on to dreams when I let people die!
I can't hold your hope when all I've got is rope
to tighten the noose around my head 'cause everyone is dead
that I've ever tried to save
So again...
Why don’t I quantify the value of the augment in the room?
I'm Icarus below the sky and I can't even fly, can't even die
to complete the damn story, no guts, no glory
no war won with his repurposed son
My father once said before they made me better I was worth little less than an old crumpled letter
And if you can’t save anyone well then son, why’d I have all that work done?
Two years, a thousand fears, a million tears
A life not even worth the bother
Those are the real gifts received from my father
Goodnight.”