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Life Sentence
Starbase 375, 2372
Watching the latest departure of the Defiant from his vantage point on the observation deck of Starbase 375, Garak had the strangest feeling of becoming untethered, like a hound let off the leash. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, left to connect him to his past. Even the clothes he was wearing had been replicated here, on a Federation starbase, using Federation kit and Federation power. All that remained that he could call his own was the contents of his head.
Behind him, one of his handlers cleared his throat. Not the subtlest signal, but Garak chose to ignore it anyway. They much preferred it when Garak stayed in his quarters, but there were limits to how long anyone could sit in one room, and since, technically, he wasn’t a prisoner, he wasn’t going to act like a prisoner. In fact, Garak wasn’t entirely sure what his official status was (Refugee? Asylum seeker? Off-the-books special advisor? Infuriating pest?) but there were benefits to ambiguity, and at some point he had to accept that the people currently holding him meant him no harm.
The stars twinkled coldly. Garak shifted from one foot to the other. His handler sighed. Tain had told Bashir he’d wanted Garak to grow old on DS9 surrounded by people who hated him and Garak hadn’t quite established whether that had still been his dying wish. He wondered whether this – a Starfleet base filled with people who were at best ambivalent – would be a satisfactory alternative. Anything to please Tain. Two days ago, sitting alone in the interview room, Garak watched his gelat cool and listened as people beyond the door argued about him. A couple of men – Garak recognised their type immediately – had arrived that morning stating their intention to leave with him. His handlers here on the base plainly lacked the authority to prevent them, but made a few gratifyingly valiant efforts on his behalf nonetheless. And then Sisko, very quietly, intervened. He said, “If I get back and he’s not here, there’ll be hell to pay.” The conversation ended there. Sisko was a powerful god.
The stars outside shivered. Garak found himself thinking, for some reason, of the time they’d put Legate Hagal in the freezer. Naked in the bright glare of a hard and frigid room too small for him to stand up or lie down, the sprinklers coming on at random intervals. He’d been just alive enough when they pulled him out. Garak’s timing was immaculate. One of the others said Hagal looked like a riding-hound crawling out of its kennel, and made him bark for them. Garak remembered that when he made his report, and came to this moment, Tain laughed. He’d known he would; that’s why he’d said it. You could always predict when Tain would laugh. Tain had been completely predictable right up until the moment that he wasn’t. They’d mocked up Hagal’s confession before the arrest, so all that was left was the family viewing and the execution. Mercy killing, Tain said. Put the hound out of his misery. He’d laughed at his own joke. Predictably.
Garak ran the tip of his finger along his throat. Bashir had given him a story once, about a woman on a quest who boarded a ship, unaware that it sailed not across the seas but across the stars. When she’d come home, years had passed that were days for her, her world was changed beyond recognition, and almost everyone she’d ever known was dead. Garak had told the doctor that he thought the woman was rather stupid. “You’re not even trying,” Bashir said, affectionately enough, and laughed, and shook his head. Turning his back to the dark, tugging at his Federation collar, Garak nodded at the lieutenant standing impatiently nearby, and let himself be led back to his quarters.
7th June 2026