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I Capture the Castle
Starbase 375, 2372
The first thing Garak registered on arrival at Starbase 375 was that this was the most incontrovertibly Starfleet place he’d ever set foot in. The second thing he registered was the two yellow-shirted officers bearing down on him. His arms went up – straight out, palms flat, as if to push them away – and he took a step back. He’d had nightmares that started like this, and they never ended well.
“Julian—” he hissed, regretting the slip as soon as the word was out and, seeing Sisko move to intercept the two men, covered quickly (and loudly) with, “Captain Sisko,” (yes, better), “am I being detained? This was not what we discussed—”
He heard Bashir say, “What?” and O’Brien, of all people, say, “They’re arresting Garak? That’s not on—” before Sisko cut in. “Nobody is arresting anybody.” He moved himself between Garak and the – well, what were they? Security? Military police? Some hitherto unmentioned clandestine outfit? “Garak,” said Sisko, in the kind of voice you might use to persuade someone to step back from a significant drop, “it’s all right. Just… relax, will you? Put your hands down.”
Garak did no such thing. If anything, his stance hardened. Both feet planted firmly on the ground. He was absolutely ready for this, whatever this was, and while he mightn’t get far, he wasn’t going down without a fight. In between scanning for exits and anything that might work as a weapon, he was aware of Bashir, arms folded, moving to stand beside Sisko, and O’Brien (of all people), arms akimbo, moving to stand next to Bashir. It all gave the vague impression of a defensive wall, but Garak dismissed that thought before it had time to take hold and persuade him into doing something rash. Like relaxing. Bashir, turning his head to look back at him, said, “It’s okay. We’ll sort this out.”
One of the yellow-clad officers, a clean-cut dark-haired man whom, by the end of his time on Starbase 375, Garak would rather like, was speaking to Sisko. “I think our intentions here might have been misconstrued—”
“You think?”
“We were just—”
“Whatever it was, you got it wrong.”
“So it seems.” The officer took a step back. Everyone relaxed except Garak. “How about you all find your quarters,” he said, “and we introduce ourselves properly later?”
“How about we do that?” murmured Sisko.
The officer nodded. He looked past the human fortification and nodded. “Mr Garak,” he said. “My name’s Blok. Welcome to Starbase 375. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Welcome indeed. “It’s just Garak,” muttered Garak, not taking his eyes off the man until he and his companion moved away.
Everyone in uniform breathed out. Garak lowered his arms and clenched his fists. O’Brien, eying him, said, “Never a dull moment with you, is there?”
Sisko, heading off for a ‘quick word’ with Blok, handed management of the other half of this situation over to his chief medical officer. Whether this made Bashir his doctor, his handler, or his custodian, Garak wasn’t sure. This was uncharted territory.
“Let’s find your quarters,” said Bashir, and led him off further into this alien stronghold. Everything was unfamiliar, with the occasional connection to a previous reality, like the voice of the computer that kept piping up at intervals. Fancy meeting you here… Caught up in how cold DS9 had been, how bright, Garak had not until now appreciated the extent to which the simple fact of the architecture had kept him from becoming completely detached. This went beyond disconcerting. This was a plunge into the unknown. Perhaps I’ve finally gone mad, he thought, as they stepped into a turbolift and went down a few levels. The idea was rather appealing. Presumably because it was better than the alternative, which was that he lived here now.
“Here we are,” said Bashir. “Level 5.” The turbolift doors opened to reveal a wall upon which was embossed a big circle overlaid with a delta, just in case he’d forgotten where he was.
“Right,” muttered Bashir, “what are we looking for…?
Garak didn’t reply. Bashir would start gabbling soon, to fill the gap, which would save him from making any further effort.
“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight…” Here it came. “Oh here we are, thirty-nine… I’m four along from here, by the way, that’s handy… I mean, in case of emergencies… Or whatever…” He unlocked the door and they went inside. “Oh, it’s not too bad in here… Not too small… Er, what have we got... Bed looks comfortable…”
It didn’t. Also, the air was freezing.
“Better than usual, actually… There’s the replicator… Mm, though, I doubt there’ll be much in there you’ll like… Oh, I know, I’ll get the patterns from the Defiant, fix you up with some rokassa juice… Er, clothes, how do we go about sorting out clothes—”
“Doctor,” said Garak. “I’m a tailor.”
“Oh! Of course… I’m banging on again, aren’t I—?”
“Also, I know how a replicator works.”
“These are Federation—”
“I came here on the Defiant.”
Bashir stopped flapping. They stood looking at each other.
“Are you all right?” said Bashir, voice low.
“Yes.”
“Have you got your—”
“Yes.”
“All right. Good.” Bashir chewed his bottom lip. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t think—”
No, thought Garak.
“I forget sometimes, you know, that you’re not…”
“Not what?”
“Not…” Bashir suddenly saw the drop opening up in front of him. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Not one of you?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Not at all, doctor,” said Garak, turning away. “On the contrary. Very wise.”
“All right,” said Bashir, after a moment. He moved back towards the door. “How about I swing by in an hour?” he said. “We’ll find the mess and get something to eat. Yes?”
Garak, rubbing his right thumb around his left palm, nodded his consent.
“You’re perfectly safe here, you know,” said Bashir. “Nobody’s going to do anything to you.”
That, thought Garak, remained to be seen. Bashir, realizing that he wasn’t going to get a response, sighed and went out. When the door closed behind him, Garak locked it, changed the passcode, and put a chair in front for good measure. Then he lowered the lights, and went in search of the temperature controls.
True to his word as ever, Bashir reappeared an hour later and together they located the mess. O’Brien was there already, drinking raktajino.
“Not locked up then,” observed O’Brien, as Garak sat down next to him.
“So it seems,” agreed Garak, pleasantly.
“Well,” said O’Brien, “I suppose they haven’t talked to you yet.”
8th June 2026