Sea Change
by Kathy P
The loud clatter of metal crashing onto metal caused heads to turn all around the promenade. Glancing to his left, Dr. Elim Garak hid a smile as a group of Cardassians started to swear, one younger man sticking an obviously injured finger in his mouth in an attempt to ease the pain. He caught the youngster’s eye, and smiled when the youth waved at him, showing the doctor that he was fine.
Garak watched for a moment longer as the group bent to lift the large piece of metal again, dragging the slab over to the pile of debris that had already amassed.
Nodding in satisfaction, Dr. Garak continued on. The restoration of the Terran station, Deep Space Nine, now called Terok Nor, was proceeding along course. There was still a lot of work to be done. The Terrans had come close too utterly destroying the interior of the station when they were forced to withdraw and hand the station over to the Bajorans, whom they had oppressed for so long. The Bajoran government had given control over the station to the Cardassians, allowing their peaceful neighbours to run the station. In exchange, the Cardassians were mobilizing to help the Bajoran people get back on their feet after almost a century of harsh Terran rule.
Off to the side, Garak noted a group of Bajoran refugees, their possessions packed into heartbreakingly small bags, being guided toward a turbolift and the ship that was waiting to bring them home to Bajor. He spotted Larin, the long-haired leader of the civilian aid agency that had come to help with the remaining Bajorans on the station, bend down to pick up a willowy Bajoran girl, settling her on his hip as they made their way to their destination. Blue eyes locked on blue eyes when Larin looked over at Garak, the two men sharing a sad smile over the Bajorans’ heads.
The refugees had been enslaved by the Terrans, forced to work in the ore processing plant many levels below the promenade. They looked to be in good health but Elim knew that it would be a very long time before the emotional and spiritual wound that these people held would heal.
Many of Garak’s friends had questioned his decision to accept the post to Terok Nor, not understanding the allure of the position that Garak had vied for. They had pointed out all the hardships and horror awaiting him on the frontier. Garak had done all he could to placate his friends, trying to explain that working in a clinic in the Cardassian Alliance wasn’t what he was looking for. It had always been his desire to be able to use his abilities to their upmost and he knew that frontier medicine would demand this of him.
Making his way through the crowd of busy workers, Garak headed for one of the few remaining businesses still open on the station. An enterprising Ferengi, Quark, had set up shop during the Terran’s rule and was insisting on keeping the bar open during the change of command. Gul Dukat had listened to the Ferengi’s argument and had agreed to let the bar remain open for the duration. Garak secretly thought that Dukat had simply gotten tired of listening to Quark go on and on about how having a bar on board the station would boost everyone, including the Bajorans’, moral. Holding back a smile, Garak pictured Dukat stuffing his long black braids into his ears to silence the Ferengi’s voice.
As he reached the bar’s entrance, the lights on the promenade dimmed, causing a silence to fall over the workers. With a low hum, the lights returned to the chatter of many voices as jokes about the fit Chief Engineer Damar was probably having over the station’s disrepair flew through the air.
Pushing his way through the crowded bar, Garak took a chair at one of the few remaining empty tables. Placing an order with the short, nervous Ferengi waiter, Garak turned his attention to the occupants of the bar, watching those gathered around the dabo tables. The scantily clad Bajoran woman stood out like brightly plumed birds amongst the black uniforms of the Cardassian Alliance. For the first time in their lives, their smiles were not pasted on as the players around them gambled their money away.
Nodding at the few acquaintances he saw scattered around the bar, Garak continued his surveillance. The waiter appeared at his side with his glass of kanaar, the Ferengi’s mouth breaking out into a broken tooth smile when Garak gave him a tip along with his payment. Raising the tall glass to his lips, he sipped the imported drink, grimacing at its slightly bitter taste. It wasn’t one of the better years.
Settling back into his chair, he continued to sip his drink, content to just watch the crowd flow around him. A variety of species loitered around in the bar. Cardassians, Bajorans, even a few rare Vulcans mingled together. He watched the Vulcans under heavy lidded eyes, having never met one of their race before. The Vulcan's homeworld had been one of the many worlds that had been absorbed by the Terrans. As a result they had been scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy, their home world a dry, broken husk that was unable to support life.
Taking another sip of his kanaar, Garak started to place the drink onto the table in front of him, when a dark shadow in the bar’s corner caught his attention. Leaning forward, Garak placed the glass on the table gently, using the action as cover as he studied the figure that hovered out of everyone’s way. Long years of practice allowed him to cover his reaction when he noticed that the man was Terran, and that his assessing look was being returned.
Nodding his head to one side, Garak invited the young man to have a seat in the empty chair next to him. He waiting silently as the Terran studied him for a moment more before walking toward him. Watching as the human came closer, Garak thought back to the briefing Dukat had given him when he had first arrived on the station. Dukat had told him all about the one remaining Terran on the station, a young man that had been exiled by his people for some mysterious reason, left behind when the other humans left. He owned a small tailor’s shop on the promenade, but it was suspected that he had been left behind to spy on the Cardassian Alliance. Something which the young man had denied.
Garak was intrigued as he studied the other’s physical characteristics. The young human had golden skin and a long brown braid that fell down his back to his waist. He wore expertly tailored clothing of brown leather that fit tightly, showing of the long lines of his body. Brown eyes twinkled merrily at the doctor as the younger man slid into the seat next to him. Garak hadn’t realized that Terrans could be such attractive creatures.
“Thank you. I was getting a little tired of standing,” the human said as he made himself comfortable at the table.
The Ferengi waiter returned to the table when he saw the new customer there, but stopped when he saw who it was, a look of uncertainty passing over his face.
The human smiled winningly at the hesitant man and placed an order for a glass of kanaar.
Garak raised one eye-ridge at that. The human noticed and laughed softly. “I’ve never tried it before. I thought that this would be as good a time as any.”
Garak shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not a very good example of kanaar, but it is palatable.”
The young man’s smile grew. “That’s good to hear. So many things are unpalatable, I don’t think I need to add anything else to my list.” The human looked around the bar for a moment before turning his attention back to his table-mate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Julian,” he said as he extended his hand toward Garak.
Garak looked down at the offered hand, not sure what was required of him. Julian chuckled, his cultured voice a pleasing sound. “It’s an old Terran greeting. You take my hand and shake it,” he instructed.
Taking the human’s hand in his own, Garak marvelled at the soft texture of Julian’s skin. He allowed Julian to shake his hand up and down in the Terran ritual. He pulled his hand back when Julian let him go.
“Interesting,” Garak said. “Cardassians don’t have a similar custom of our own. Usually we would just nod our head in greeting when meeting someone new or an old acquaintance.”
Julian listened with interest, a sly smile barely touching his lips. “Would you tell them your name?”
Garak laughed at his lapse in manners. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not this socially inept. My name is Dr. Elim Garak.”
Julian nodded his head slowly, winking at the older man when his head came back up. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Elim Garak.”
“Likewise.”
The conversation halted when the Ferengi waiter appeared back at the table, placing the glass of kanaar on the table in front of Julian. Before the younger man could pull out any money, Garak placed a strip of latinum on the tray.
Julian simply smiled again as he took a hold of his glass and raised it to his lips. Garak watched as the human took a delicate sip of the foreign drink, intrigued by the play of emotions that flitted across Julian’s face, surprise quickly transmuting to an almost sensual appreciation. A sudden warmth ignited in Garak as he watched the tip of the human’s pink tongue emerge to lick at a drop of kanaar that glistened on the younger man’s lips.
"Not bad. Not bad at all,” Julian said as he took another drink before setting the glass down on the table in front of him. “I think I could get to really like kanaar.”
Garak took a sip of his own drink before responding. “It’s somewhat unusual for those not Cardassian to enjoy it.”
“Ah, the others don’t know what they’re missing. The taste at first is bitter, but the aftertaste is almost sweet,” Julian said as he placed an elbow on the table, resting his head in his upturned hand, eyes locked on the older man. “But I have always noticed that others will turn away from new experiences that don’t suit their taste immediately.”
Sitting back in his chair, Garak nodded his head, “I’ve often thought that patience was one of the more noble virtues a being could have.”
Julian laughed, “Oh, I can think of a few more virtues that others could have, but patience is an important one.”
Garak returned Julian’s laughter with a smile. “I hear that you’re the resident tailor of Terok Nor.”
Julian grimaced slightly at that. “I’m still not use to that name. Not that the name Deep Space Nine was any better. And to answer your question, yes, I do run a little tailor shop on the promenade,” Julian paused to look at the black uniform that Garak was wearing. “Why? Are you thinking of buying some new clothing? Those uniforms are rather drab you know. A nice outfit in cerulean blue would enhance those blue eyes of yours.”
“Maybe,” Garak said ambiguously as a lovely vision of Julian curled up in a chair, a pile of sewing on his lap, and a pool of light making golden highlights stand out in his long hair, rose in his mind. Shaking off the vision, he turned his attention back to the conversation. “So, you’re just a tailor, Julian?” he said, a teasing tone in his voice.
Rolling his eyes, Julian shook his head in mock dismay, “Oh, I hope you’re not referring to a certain rumour that’s going around, Garak. You don’t look like a man who would believe every little thing he hears.”
“What rumour would that be, Julian? I’ve noticed that on a station like this there is always more than one rumour in circulation.”
Julian winked at the Cardassian. “Really? I thought there was just the one about me. Let me guess, you’ve heard that I’m not really a tailor, that I’m some sort of assassin-spy that was left behind to gather intelligence about the Cardassian Alliance.”
Garak took a sip of his drink. “I might have heard that one.”
Julian waved a finger at Garak. “You’re being coy,’ he accused with amusement. “Are all Cardassians this coy?”
“Do you know of any race that has the same universal characteristic?” Garak replied dryly.
With a laugh, Julian shook his head. “Good answer, doctor. But to answer your question, I’m just a plain and simple tailor.” Holding his arms out to the side, Julian showed off his outfit. “You see what I’m wearing? I made this with my own two hands.”
Garak raked a look up the human’s torso, admiring the way the clothing enhanced Julian’s masculine beauty. “Very nice, Julian. I just might have to commission something from you after all. You seem to have a good grasp with color and creating a style that is flattering to the wearer.”
Julian beamed at Garak. “That’s quite the compliment, doctor.”
A wave of his hand dismissed Julian’s thanks, “It’s the truth, Julian,” Garak said, softly, his gaze still on the younger man, blue eyes locked on brown.
Julian was the first to look away.
“And you, Dr. Elim Garak, what brings you here to Deep Space, I mean, Terok Nor?” Julian said as he drew a pattern in the puddle of condensation that lay on the table top.
“I'm looking for a challenge,” he said simply as he watched the younger man raise his eyes to look at him. A slow smile spread across the golden face.
“A challenge, hmmm?”
Garak pinned Julian with a steady look. “Yes.”
Julian's smile faded slightly as he studied the older man. Taking his drink, he lifted the glass to his lips and drained the remaining kanaar. Setting the glass down on the table, he rose gracefully from the chair, leaning slightly over the older man. Placing a hand on Garak’s arm, he leaned in closer. “I hope you find your challenge, my dear doctor,” he said lightly before pulling back. Straightening up, he looked down at Garak’s carefully composed face. With a small nod, Julian turned and walked away.
Garak closed his eyes briefly. He could still feel the heat from the hand that had been placed so lightly on his arm. Opening his eyes, he watched as Julian made his way through the crowd, apparently oblivious to the suspicious looks being thrown his way.
Garak kept watching until he could no longer see the slender human. With a small smile, he finished off the rest of his drink, waving for the waiter to bring him another. Smiling brown eyes lingered in his mind as he thought over their conversation. With a chuckle, Garak thought of calling on the young tailor tomorrow. He wondered what Julian’s response would be if he invited him to lunch.
Taking his drink from the waiter, Garak sat back and made his plans. ‘Yes,’ he thought to himself in delight. ‘This is definitely going to be an interesting posting.’
The End.