My first fan-fic Options

[tatterdemallion]

Are you finding Garak difficult to write?
I have been working on a Garak and Bashir story of my own, and i have been having all kinds of problems. Mainly making Garak "sound" like Garak. Do you have and suggestions?

Woo Hoo..... 100 posts (how cool is that?).
Bec.

It was pretty difficult at first. Then I reminded myself that he's not completely our Garak. He's a tweaked version of Garak and it was easier then. I'm still not sure about him but I'll let everyone else be the judge when I post the third part. Which is my next post.

Sorry if I seem a little punch drunk. I tried to go to sleep at 7am but couldn't, so I got up and went to write part 3, which I finished about 25 minutes ago...

Sam.

*******************************************************

Hi, all . This is the third installment of Daily Engagement, an AU-MU DS9 story with Garak and Bashir. Unbetaed, so blame me for any mistakes.

Title: Daily Engagement, Part Three
Author: Sam Wagley
Rating: PG-PG13; a bit of violence this time.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Garak’s escape.

Freedom was a heady sensation, but one to be sensibly resisted for the time being. Air not breathed inside a holding cell was a powerful intoxicant. A man who needed to be focused and mindful of his circumstances couldn’t afford to revel in intoxicating sensations for too long or deeply.

For the first time in months he was moving more than the endless shifting he had forced on himself just to not go completely insane. Garak had never truly believed during his incarceration that he would spend the last of his days chained to a wall in such an offensive holding cell. He would not accept that conclusion; someone as proud as he could not accept it.

It wasn’t really hope, or a concept as sentimental and fleeting as that, that had kept Garak’s will to survive from flagging completely. Garak was a steadfast individual. He believed in himself and his abilities. His confident capability and ambition to achieve had been the driving force of his entire life. It would take more than a bit of chafing and bad food to divert him from his life’s purpose. And his life’s purpose was himself.

Security hadn’t even bothered to watch him in his cell. Once the Terran had left, without the marvelous piece of cutlery, Garak had cautiously set to work on his bonds. He should be glad the utensil had been made of stronger stuff that it seemed and that the mechanisms of his shackles were insultingly low-tech. He had worked on one wrist at a time, holding the utensil flush to the inside of his wrist with its pronged ends set to the task of picking away at the locks. He had worked diligently, pausing only to rotate his wrist now and then and let the circulation return to his hand. Garak had weakened the lock as far as he could with his only tool when it finally came to him that perhaps he could finish off the stressed metal by pushing it against the protruding wall rings to which his chains were secured.

He was cautiously gleeful when the first bits of metal began to break away and when the manacle began to open he felt an immense relief. He resisted urges to move aggressively against the rest of his bonds and proceeded to guardedly free himself from those as well. His body was in no shape to undertake any proceedings at all that weren’t carefully moderated, anyhow. Prudence would win the prize in this case.

When the small, wide-eyed man brought his last captive meal he was nearly finished with his second manacle. Garak glared at the man until he left the food and went to stand outside with the guards. He knew his now-broken, but carefully rigged left shackle wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny if the man stayed to watch him eat. After the door slid closed, Garak hurriedly ate what he wanted and set back to work on his right wrist. He wanted both hands free whenever the man came back.

He stopped working and made things right with his shackles after a judicious amount of time had passed and ignored the man when he came to take away his tray and utensil. Garak stared at the wall as the slave came closer for retrieval and contemplated whether he could kill him and free himself from his own final encumbrances before the guards became suspicious. No, he decided, not even the advantages of a matching cutlery set could pull that one off. And besides, it was unnecessary since the sweaty little man had not realized anything was amiss.

Garak finished the right manacle and blindly worked by feel and intuition to break the collar. When it opened he forced himself to breathe deeply and slow the beating of his heart. He closed his eyes and tentatively removed the collar from his neck. Adrenaline was beginning to give way and Garak felt exhausted by his manacle work. He also began to really feel the damage to his body from disuse and inactivity. He felt incredibly grateful that his food must have contained more than just nutrient particles. He wondered if that meant the Intendant had had longer term plans for his suffering or if she were just that sadistic. Of course, she was.

He leveraged his weight against the floor using his right hand to lean and his left for balance. He groaned deeply as his leg muscles all but revolted against standing and the groan reverberated with something ferocious twisting inside him. His eyes flared and he stood as straight as he could. He stretched the length of his body and clamped down on a sound of pain. His wrists and neck ridges were beginning to burn in the air from the places where the worst of chronic chafing had occurred. Perhaps his impending freedom had distracted him from it before, but now he wanted to hiss from the pain; especially from the grooves that had work themselves into his ridges. Garak told himself that it could be much, much worse and strengthened his resolve to work through the pain. He would need to be ready for the nighttime cycle of the station, which he estimated to still be a few hours away.

He made sure that his utensil-cum-lock-pick was in an easily retrievable place among the debris on the floor in case of a sudden guard check and set about further stretching his body and acclimating himself to the newfound pain. Hours passed and when the guards decided to finally check in on their confidently trussed prisoner he put a two-pronged utensil through the jugular of the one unfortunate enough to be first. As the guard flailed and bled, Garak took advantage of his forward momentum to slam the dying body into his companion who had stayed at lazy attention on the other side of the passage. Garak was surprised he had not been dozing. The other guard, stunned and crushed under the weight of two men, was desperately pushing his trapped arms towards his weapon when Garak twisted his neck into a new position.

He hastily pushed their bodies into his former ---- and ran. He knew when the klaxons blared minutes rather than seconds after his escape that his assessment of a lax nighttime security had been correct. He ran through darkened corridors, ghosting along bleary security cameras and the disbelieving eyes of a skeleton security headquarters detail. The Intendant’s paranoia meant that most of the station’s guards and security resources were spent protecting her. Garak had to be sure to avoid the areas that employed the majority of those guards, much of which had surely been mobilized into roving prisoner retrieval units by now.

He continued to run through dim corridors and the pulsing blare of security alert. He knew that certain parts of the station would allow him more freedom of movement if he could just get there. Once he could move off the main radar of the station then he could avoid detection for an acceptable amount of time. He wanted to go into the bowels of the station – the parts that housed the warp core were heavily guarded at their entrances but Garak wasn’t really interested in whatever strategic value access there could gain him.

He wasn’t planning to destroy the station or anything else so recklessly vulgar. He only needed the bit of time that the labyrinths of interconnected maintenance tubes and abandoned parts of the station could afford him to plan his next move.

He finally arrived at the maintenance tube he had been seeking. The one that security would not be scrambling to cover because it supposedly didn’t connect to any other parts of the station. That was before Garak had had it modified. The cameras around this stretch of corridor were also notoriously spotty. Some bugs were very difficult to work out of a system once they got into it.

He pulled the cover from the tube and gracefully slid inside, feet first in order to replace the covering. He worked his way down the tube until he could slide into the shallow cross section and turn his body head first towards the “end� of the original tube. The blank piece of curved wall wasn’t hard to pry away if one knew the correct places to press and the right spot to wedge finger tips beneath thin, flat sills. Garak gingerly removed the false panel and slid through the opening before replacing its cover.

He began to move through shafts and tubes and slowly his surroundings became less and less well-maintained. By the second hour of his freedom he was drenched in sweat and trying not to breathe in dust too heavily. Painful as it was, he relished the strain and didn’t mind the taste of sweat dripping from his forehead. The heat was really no problem for him or the close quarters. He wondered abruptly at what detrimental affects an affliction like claustrophobia could have had on his plans but shook it off as unimportant, and worse distracting, musing. The possibilities of the heat he didn’t wonder at. He was Cardassian.

Garak finally made his way to what he deemed an acceptable stopping point in his journey and rested against a curving juncture in the maintenance tube that provided him with a vantage point of both passage ways. He ignored the lack of cover because he was confident that he would know they were coming before they knew they were close to him and he really didn’t believe they were coming at all. At least, not right now.

Garak contemplated his choices and realized the kind of subtle approach he favored would be near impossible as long as he remained upon the station and focused all his energy on just avoiding detection. He didn’t really want to put off his half-formed plans of revenge and reversal of fortune, but he conceded that he might have to. He had no resources on this station at his disposal besides this escape route and even this would not serve him much longer. He needed to find a way to get off the station and to a relatively safe haven where he could plan, amass resources, and carefully resume contact with any former allies loyal or greedy enough to work with him again.

Resources wouldn’t be too great of a problem; he still had hidden reserves that the Intendant hadn’t known about and thus hadn’t seized. Months of captivity had also taken care of certain planning aspects of how he wanted to proceed with his ambitions for the future. Those months had also necessitated that he now regain his full-strength and that could be combined with the other items on his mental list. Now, all he needed to do was leave the station, preferably further unscathed, but he would fight his way off if necessary. For that he needed an ally and he didn’t have any here.

The only thing that had helped him in months wasn’t even alive and he had failed to remove it from the neck of the guard. Garak wished he had now. He felt oddly attached to it. He remembered when he had first realized that it could be the thing he had been waiting for. The man who had been his only real contact for months was off-kilter just because Garak had suddenly shown more interest in him in ten minutes than he had the whole of their sad acquaintance. When the Terran had stiffly walked towards him with intention of taking the tray and utensil away, Garak once again realized the fortune in his ability to emotionally toy with even those who showed minimal wish for engagement.

He had wrapped a ginger hold around a slim wrist, his first flesh to flesh contact since the end of the beating portion of his incarceration. The Terran had reacted with more defiant aplomb and grace than Garak would have imagined of him. Yet, he was still wrapped in his own thoughts as he walked to the door and Garak felt a cautious triumph that he had sufficiently distracted the slave from his fearful diligence.

Perhaps it wasn’t the utensil alone that had been so useful. Perhaps it was the Terran. Perhaps Garak had found his ally. A temporary one, at least. A Terran slave wouldn’t have much to lose, except their life, and that was already half-way forfeit under a rule such as the Intendant’s.

Garak thought of the other allies he had dealt with during his life of ambitious manipulation and careful conquest. Few of them had been like the Terran. Garak mostly chose to deal in alliances with people of the same station as he. People who played the game not only for their mutual benefit but also because they were good at. The skills necessary to achieve in it were a fundamental part of their natures. He didn’t think any of his innate skills were a part of the Terran’s nature.

Still, all he needed at the moment was to leave the station and he gauged that the Terran might believe he had little enough to lose by staying in comparison to a ride off. Plus, a reward for his help before going along his way, which Garak would gladly pay. He knew all the areas where the slaves that worked odd jobs, like his Terran, slept upon the levels of the promenade. If he could blend into the shadows enough to quietly search the alcoves at night he might be able to find him.

Garak continued along the maintenance tube and came to the right spot where he could leave the tubes for musty rooms and abandoned corridors. He climbed out into a dimly lit hall and made his way along the grimy wall. He knew people slept down here, ate, breathed, lived down here. He hoped to avoid all of them. He also hoped that one of them wouldn’t mind parting with a cloak.

He finally procured a rough-brown, hooded cloak from the veritable vole’s nest of a vagrant’s possessions. At least he hoped that it was actually a collection of a vagrant’s belongings; he would hate to think Terok Nor had voles of that size. He dressed and traversed the maze of corridors that would lead him to more maintenance tubes which in turn would lead into the mostly abandoned back-ways of some of the shops or station service areas on the promenade.

Some of those back entrances and exits were no longer even in areas used by the businesses they had formerly belonged to. Those areas tended to be former storage annexes with small emergency doors; cubbyholes tucked off the promenade and now used to bundle slaves away for the night.

Garak chose at random one of three of those entrances that were still viable. All were located on the lower promenade. The “door� was barely a door at all; it was barely the size of the maintenance tubes he had been shimmying and crawling through for hours. It had a small manual lock that had been locked from his side the last time anyone with a professional interest had wanted to stop anyone else from using it to leave the promenade area. He unlocked it and slowly slid it aside. It made a slight scraping noise but failed to wake any of the figures Garak could see slumbering on the floor. He pulled himself through, quietly shut the door, and paused before scanning the figures to see if he had gotten lucky. The dim light told him no.

He weaved through the figures and ghosted through the shadows of the promenade, sticking close to the wall. Few people would be on the promenade at this time, mostly security guards, but Garak saw no one. He felt a slight apprehension at the ease with which he was moving in the open, but didn’t hesitate to glide into the next wedge-shaped indention off the promenade and search its alcove.

This one only had three figures and he knew as soon as he took in the furthest shape that his search was momentarily finished. Garak slowly crept past a man snoring softly and another that obviously suffered from some intense skin vermin. The Terran lay on his back and appeared to be softly falling into sleep. Garak studied him for a moment and contemplated his plans.

When he was completely sure and his resolve once again solidified, he knelt beside the man. Garak glanced back at the alcove entrance once before he brought his right hand up to softly cover the Terran’s mouth. He placed his other in a relaxed position on the floor above the man’s shoulder just in case the Terran couldn’t be subdued by covering his mouth. In that case, Garak would need his left hand’s ready force on his shoulder to completely silence the Terran.

This post has been edited by tatterdemallion: Aug 20 2006, 01:53 PM

[Bonaparte]

Brilliant Sam,
Can't wait for part 4.
Bec.

[tatterdemallion]

Brilliant Sam,
Can't wait for part 4.
Bec.

Thanks, Bec .

I haven't started the next part, yet. I plan to work on including more dialogue. That seems to be a problem for me. I just sort of don't think about it until I'm done and realize that most of the story has taken place in the character's head. I'll work on it .

Sam

[Bonaparte]

Hmm.....Voices in the head? actually, that can be helpful as well, as it leaves the story open, changeable, and some times gives an intimate look in to the charactor in question, the whole "what makes you tick?" thing.

This would work well with "our" Garak beacause he has such a vivid imagenation any way, it would also work well with the MU Bashir who could be dreaming of a better life.

However you write it, I'm sure it will be an interesting read.
Happy writing
Bec


This post has been edited by Bonaparte: Aug 20 2006, 12:21 PM

[paulafromtwoson]

This one was absolutely great!

(Sorry it took me so long to reply, though... As I said, things have been a bit hectic here )

But I really, really like this installment!! The story's getting so exciting now! You're doing a great job of keeping us readers on the edges of our chairs

I wouldn't worry too much about the dialog - so far, I wouldn't change a thing!
I really think you should keep your writing up. You have a lot of talent!

I can't wait to see the next chapter!!

[tatterdemallion]

Thanks Bec and Julia!

Bec, thanks for your good suggestion. I wouldn't mind going that way partially, but I really have this hankering to make them talk to each other. I practiced with another story yesterday and I feel better about the possibilities. Now all I have to do is figure out how an escapee and a slave would leave a heavily armed and guarded space station run by someone insane.

Julia, thank you, as well, for responding when you're so busy. I hope everything goes well and I'll look forward to you reading and responding to the rest of the series. Whenever I actually write and post it . I'll start today.

Sam

[ulli]

I finally got to read the third part.
I really like it. And I think the story works perfectly without so much dialogue.

Ulli

[tatterdemallion]

Thanks, Ulli .

On to part four!

Hi! This is part four in my story Daily Engagement, an Au-Mu story with Garak and Bashir. All mistakes are mine. Comments, questions, and feedback are very welcome.

Title: Daily Engagement, Part Four.
Author: Sam Wagley
Rating: G-PG.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Summary: Garak and Bashir plan their escape from Terok Nor.
Word Count: 2, 735.

**************
The Terran’s eyes were panicked and confused.

Garak looked meaningfully into them and shook his head in silent warning. He could feel the man’s tension as he struggled to breathe normally and hold himself still. The Cardassian kept his hand firmly over his mouth and slowly drew him into sitting position.

Several blankets fell away, leaving an unpleasant smell in their wake and Garak registered several days’ worth of stubble growth beneath his hand. He kept eye contact and one hand on the Terran’s shoulder as he slowly lowered the hand covering his mouth.

Bashir silently regarded the Cardassian. Garak could read suspicion in his gaze and a confused wariness.

“What is your name?� Garak quietly asked. He couldn’t keep calling him “the Terran� in his mind and he didn’t think calling him that to his face would inure him towards doing his bidding.

“Bashir,� came the raspy response.

“How long have you been here?� was Garak’s next query.

“Seven months.� Garak surmised that he must have been captured during the Terran rebellion’s failed attempt to take the station the same number of months ago. Garak had begun his incarceration only three months after that, as a result of yet another one of his botched attempts to remove the Intendant from power.

Inwardly wincing at his non-existent success rate he then asked “Were you transferred from somewhere else?� A quick “no� from Bashir confirmed his speculation and Garak proceeded to softly question him about his familiarities with the station. A couple of questions in, Garak decided that they should move back to the alcove that held his passage into the station’s underworld.

Bashir hesitated when the Cardassian broke off his questions and stood with the intent of pulling him to standing as well. His fear and surprise had thus far dulled him to his other inner state: completely bewildered. But now that the spell had been broken he was ready ask his own questions. He hadn’t “questioned� in months; he wasn’t even sure where to start, but the reluctance to stand and go anywhere with the Cardassian was the one non-impulse getting through.

Garak could see the Terran was in a state and silently sighed his impatience. He didn’t wish to wake any of the sleeping slaves and he certainly wanted to avoid an unexpected guard check. He smoothed his face into a semblance of authoritative reassurance and prepared to compel Bashir with reason and a false sense of amity.

Bashir looked up at the Cardassian standing over him. He knew his face was confused and he felt irritated that he hadn’t gotten a handle on the situation, yet. It was very, very difficult to deal with the cacophony of emotions racing through his brain. Most of his time was spent repressing or ignoring them. Bashir certainly didn’t care for any situation that forced emotional upheaval on him. If he was going to feel anything he wanted to be in control of it. He looked at the Cardassian again.

“What do you want?� It was a very simple question, if slightly halting when spoke by the Terran, but Garak couldn’t quite manage to begin to answer it. Finally, he settled for the immediate and said, “I want you to come with me, to a more private place, where we can speak.� Simple. Yet, the Terran now looked more than bewildered – he also looked a little angry. Garak felt him start to jerk his arm out of the Cardassian’s insistent hold tightened his hand. Garak sensed that any altercation between himself and this man could escalate into something that would ruin any headway he had made so far in his escape.

“Do you really want to be caught with an escaped prisoner? Do you think they’ll make distinctions when gauging the situation? I left a piece of cutlery in the neck of one of my guards and I’m sure that it will not be difficult for them to figure out where and from whom I got it,� Garak stated with a sure voice. He looked at the Terran with his head slightly tilted, his eyes sharp and knowing.

Bashir stared back at him with flat eyes and a clamped mouth. He stood abruptly and shook the Cardassian’s hand off. He stepped out of his offending blankets and crept past the sleeping slaves. Garak watched him check the promenade through the alcove netting and suddenly fall down where he was. Bashir slid towards the peacefully prone form of the snorer and curled into a ball, motioning Garak to do the same.

Garak saw the faint, drawn out shadow of the guard, silently making his way towards the entrance, before he fell into Bashir’s thin pile of blankets and rolled towards the wall. He tucked his legs into layers cloth and made sure his hood completely covered his head. His heart was embarrassingly frantic and he clenched his eyes shut, hoping that his “sleep� looked natural enough to fool the guard. He wondered if guards counted the number of slaves per alcove, but then doubted it in the space of the same second.

Bashir focused on breathing evenly and remembered to close his eyes right before he felt the guard’s presence behind him.

Everything felt agonizingly slow.

Bashir heard the gentle scuff of the guards boots and hoped that it meant he was turning away to resume his patrol. He continued to breathe evenly and let his eyelids lightly open. He peered through the thick fringe of his lashes towards the back of the alcove, where he assumed the Cardassian was playing a similar role in their little drama. He saw Garak feigning sleep seemingly easier than Bashir and wondered if he was paranoid or actually felt the guard lingering.

Finally he heard another scuff and faint footsteps growing fainter as the guard moved away. Bashir rolled over and looked out the alcove entrance, but only saw the usual starlight on plain walls. Garak startled him by suddenly looming over him. He must have jumped up as soon as the guard was five feet away.

Garak’s hand appeared from the folds of the cloak and Bashir regarded it only a couple of seconds before grasping it and letting the Cardassian pull him to his feet.

Together they followed the shadows and walls back to where Garak’s safe passage was located. Bashir glanced over the sleeping slaves as they wandered through them and shimmied through the tiny opening that Garak had made appear in the wall, as if by magic. Garak followed him through and then carefully shut and locked the “door� from their side.

Garak motioned him to follow and proceeded to lead Bashir through a staggering length of corridors, maintenance tubes, more corridors and finally into a labyrinth of rooms. Bashir assumed this was the area where most of Terok Nor’s vagrant population disappeared to. He saw the odd clump of refuse here and there as he peered into open passages along the way. Realizing the “refuse� piles were probably personal possessions, he vaguely wondered what was behind the closed passages.

He had expected to see at least one person, but they encountered no one on their journey to wherever Garak was taking them. People here probably kept to themselves and ignored the unrecognized as much as possible.

They found a room that didn’t contain anyone’s belongings and had no footprints etched into the dust of the floor. Garak pushed the passage door shut as far as he could manage and turned to face Bashir. One dim emergency light still burned in the far corner and Bashir stood beneath it with hands in loose pockets. To Garak he looked calmer, resigned even, except for a slight, sardonic glint in his eyes. It could have been a trick of the light.

“I thought we were going to “speak�,� Bashir softly derided. It was no trick. Garak could now see a light tension strumming along the muscles of the Terran’s upper body. He wore such drab, shabby clothing that his energy was easy to mask at first glance. The fabric hung loose off his frame and Garak knew by sight that it hadn’t been cleaned in a very long time. They stared at one another, Bashir searching his eyes, and Garak archly assessing.

“I should think you have a good enough idea of my reasons for finding you,� Garak dismissed. “What other possible use could I have for you but to continue your aid in my escape from this station?�

“I didn’t help you on purpose the first time,� Bashir bit out. “It was a mistake caused by your manipulation.�

“Yes, one you could very well die for if you stay here or the Intendant has a whim.�

“I could “very well� die if I help you with this.� “Very well�, ha! More like “most likely� Bashir thought.

“Yes, you have a very good chance either way,� Garak smirked before impatiently snarling, “Now, please, decide which you would prefer so that we may get on with it.�

Bashir fluttered tight eyelids down to hide his rolling eyes and compressed his mouth into a pinched line.

Death or death - an exciting choice he thought.

He made a quick half-turn to his right and hunched down, wrapping his long arms around his knees. Death wasn’t the hardest part; the hardest part was the two sets of possibilities he faced if either of his choices didn’t end in death.

He could stay, take his chances, and numbly continue a lifetime of the slow agonizing “death� of a slave. Of course, he might also do something else to piss the Intendant off and be executed for that just as easily. Or, he could help Garak.

Perhaps be phasered by a security guard, blown up in a shuttle, or, again, recaptured and easily executed. Part of him couldn’t believe it should take even this long to decide which one he preferred but another part was still reticent.

“How exactly do you plan to go about these plans of yours to leave the station?� Bashir skeptically asked.

“The same way I’ve managed to avoid capture,� Garak replied in a tone that implied it was obvious. “We can use the tubes to get as close to the docking area as possible and you, better than I, can do any necessary legwork to prepare.� He paused and looked Bashir in the eye. “As long as you can follow my instructions,� Garak finished, with his own faint skepticism.

“I can follow instructions,� Bashir sneered. “I just don’t see how a slave is going to be able to do what you want.�

“You can access public arrivals and departures, can’t you, as long as you can get to a certain level of the station and have the right codes?� Garak asked. At Bashir’s squinted affirmative Garak continued, “I have several sets of codes. Some of them may not still be active but it is a place to start. If I give them to you and get you to those restricted levels of the station, using the tubes, you can get a list of departing ships and shuttles.�

“So, you can get me access codes and you can get me to restricted areas but how will I stay in those areas. Cameras, guards, and a slave don’t mix very well. If I’m caught this will all be over for both of us,� Bashir deduced.

“You’ll have to avoid guards as much as possible, appear on as few cameras as possible, and bluff your way through having a job assignment if you come across anyone. It’s not as if slaves are never in restricted areas. They just have a very good reason for being there. We’ll find a tube that gives us inner access to a public terminal - .�

“Why can’t we just access the lists from there?� Bashir interrupted.

“Can you place your hands upon the right equipment to access and process the feed of information?� Garak asked, knowing the answer. “No, of course not,� at Bashir’s head shake.

“We’ll cause a very minor problem,� Garak continued, “one that won’t alert security or disrupt our ability to access the terminal. But, if anyone notices you, you’ll have a very good reason to be “fixing� it. Get the information, bring it to me, and we’ll decide which vessel to stowaway on or steal.�

“Steal,� Bashir repeated. Once Garak had started mentioning ship departures he had assumed that most of their escape would be as passive as possible. “If we’re going to steal why do we need this information?�

“Clearance. We’ll need a vessel that has already filed a flight plan with operations and use that to gain the necessary clearance,� Garak informed him.

“Why can’t we just rip her out of the deck moorings and ram our way through the docking port doors?� Bashir asked. Garak stared at him incredulously. “We did it once when we stole a shuttle off an Alliance ship,� Bashir defended himself. Garak assumed he meant during his time in the resistance. “Because we can’t be sure of the integrity of the ship we mean to take and it needs to last a long way,� Garak said; he also didn’t like to think of himself as quite that desperate. He knew it was a lie.

There were only a few hours of the night cycle left by now. Since Bashir had no specific overseer that he reported to for duty each day, they decided to use the time remaining to find the right terminal to sabotage. Bashir could be on his fake repair duty as soon as the day began.

As they crawled through the tubes, Bashir memorized the access codes Garak was reciting. From a terminal on the right level, Bashir could read public information like ship names and departure information, but also tap a code into the right place and see other relevant information like ship specs, crew size, ownership, etc.

Garak had left the cloak in their room in order to crawl more easily through the tubes. Bashir could see his apparent exhaustion in lightly trembling muscles as the Cardassian crawled before him. They made several exits from the tubes, back into the musty corridors, to gain access to parts of the station unconnected by them. Bashir was reminded of making portage on a difficult to navigate river. Garak seemed to know every tiny access door, tunnel, false panel, and hallway on the station.

They found the perfect terminal and Bashir offered to make the sabotage while Garak rested. Garak leaned against the tube wall for a moment with his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

“No, I need to do it,� was his eventual response.

He crawled to a specific panel and removed the covering. Bashir watched as he unplugged one piece of glowing wiring and re-plugged it into another spot. He then took a clump of small wiring in two fingers and a thumb, turned his head away, and pulled. A short burst of sparks flew out and Bashir smelled a faintly acrid scent in the stale air of the tube.

They returned to their room in the all but forgotten parts of the station. Garak wrapped his cloak around himself and sat in one of the darker corners of the room. He estimated that less than two hours remained of the night cycle and he desperately needed rest. Bashir crouched with one side against the wall, half-way between Garak and the light. Garak’s eyes felt heavy and he could feel the Terran’s eyes upon him.

“I won’t kill you in your sleep,� Bashir sounded amused.

Garak said, “I know.� He let Bashir believe it was because he trusted him, if he believed it at all.

“I’m excited,� Bashir said suddenly. Garak heard him laugh slightly, under his breath. He reminded Garak of the last day he had brought him his midday meal. Had it been three days? Three and a half? Yes, about.

The Terran was a strange man. Energetic and obstinately gleeful at times, yet passively despondent at others. He was also possibly a little sadistic and Garak could appreciate that. Garak supposed the man’s instability was a result of his life as a slave and momentarily considered if Bashir was up to the task of coolly escaping.

He was reassured when he glanced at Bashir and saw a look of immovable ruthlessness on his face. Garak shut his eyes.

[Nele]

great, you´re doing a very good job.

And don´t worry about the dialogue, I like it

[tatterdemallion]

great, you´re doing a very good job.

And don´t worry about the dialogue, I like it

Thanks, Nele!

[paulafromtwoson]

Hi Sam!

Hooray! I get to read a new chapter!

I'm pretty much on my way out the door... So I'm printing this out to read on the trip Now I'll have some entertainment for the road

Thanks!!

[Bonaparte]

Niceky dinem
Can't wait for next bit.
Bec.

[tatterdemallion]

Have fun and be safe, Julia!

Niceky dinem

I'm not quite sure what that means but I'm pretty sure it's something good . Thanks, Bec .

, Sam.

[Bonaparte]

Have fun and be safe, Julia!



I'm not quite sure what that means but I'm pretty sure it's something good . Thanks, Bec .

, Sam.

It means I should wear my glasses when I type.
I meant nicely done,
Bec

[tatterdemallion]

I thought it was in a different language! *blush, blush, blush*

Sam.

[Bonaparte]

I thought it was in a different language! *blush, blush, blush*

Sam.

You know, I might "adopt It" for my story, maybe, I could turn it in to a Cardassian endearment / insult or curse, You have opened up some possibilities there. Thanks.
Bec



This post has been edited by Bonaparte: Aug 22 2006, 01:21 PM

[tatterdemallion]

You know, I might "adopt It" for my story, maybe, I could turn it in to a Cardassian endearment / insult or curse, You have opened up some possibilities there. Thanks.
Bec

You're welcome .

Part five!

Hi, everyone! Here's the latest part (5) of my continuing Au-Mu Ds9 story. Unbetaed, so blame me . Comments and questions, very appreciated .

Title: Daily Engagement, Part Five
Author: Sam Wagley
Rating: G-PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Garak and Bashir continue to plan their escape.
Word Count: 3,085.

A faint scuffle to his right awoke him.

The Terran, still crouched over his knees, was idly running his fingers through the dust on the floor. Garak blinked at the dim light, high in the corner beyond him, and felt his eyes adjust to the gloom. Its faint yellow-orange light spilled over the crown and shoulders of the man hunched between them. His hair was longer than Garak’s and much more unkempt. Scraggly edges flared around his ears and brushed low on his shoulders.

Garak couldn’t decide what color brown it was – just that it needed a good wash. That reminded him of the bath he would dearly love to have. He momentarily bristled at his continued indignities, but put them aside for the time being. He suspected that he had not been asleep for long but asked anyhow.

“I trust you did not allow me to oversleep?�

Bashir stopped contemplating the grime and looked his way for a brief, “No, you’ve only been out about an hour,� softly spoken in a light rasping voice.

They hunted around in the open rooms for a few tools that Bashir could carry on his “repair� duty. Bashir wondered if he should feel guilty for stealing from people who barely had anything to begin with. Then again, neither did he; less even. Plus, they had probably been stolen from someone else in the first place and the open rooms seemed abandoned. He deftly worked himself out of any guilt and put aside the lingering remorse for his continually eroding conscience.

Garak led the way through the tubes, towards the place where Bashir could most safely exit and return to the chosen terminal. The exit was on the same level as the terminal and if it was still a security blind-spot, and if it was unguarded, as Garak had surmised, then Bashir was halfway. Two “ifs� wasn’t so bad, Bashir wryly reflected; at least it wasn’t three.

They reached the inside of the exit tube. A set of rungs directly in front of them stretched upwards for more yards than Bashir could count. Its end was most likely dead to the rest of the station, but necessary, low-grade repairs and diagnostics could be made to the stations inner docking pylons from this ladder to the sky. Bashir marveled at the sabotage that could be made from such an advantageous point. Then he could see why it was a potential blind-spot.

Looking at the ladder, Bashir realized that the wall the rungs were attached to must be recessed on the other side. Garak had been ahead of him during their crawling, but now sat to his left side. In front of the Cardassian was a space large enough for a repair technician to slide in and around the short corner to gain access to the rest of the tube and the ladder. The covering to the tube probably faced a blank bulkhead wall of the same proportions, with the outer wall of the ladder recessed between them.

Garak lay on his side and slid closer to the exit covering. His upper body disappeared as Bashir realized he must be listening for noises of guards or passerby. He could barely believe that the station would leave such a point unguarded. But Garak had insisted that it seldom was, given this level’s restricted nature, a station-wide lack of guards, and the Intendant’s arrogance.

He didn’t believe it would be now, either, considering access from the inside was supposedly difficult to gain. And, if would be saboteurs were already on the inside then guards posted outside would be of little good. This point was also not as vulnerable as one would believe. Most sabotage that could be done at points along the access rungs would be minimal. Complex or involved repairs were still completed in open space by EVA protected or robotic technicians. Station-threatening sabotage involving the inner docking pylons would have to be done there, as well.

Bashir strained to listen before giving up with a short, self-deprecating eye roll. Garak, apparently satisfied with the state of the exit, slid back around and sat up beside him.

“Carefully remove covering, but don’t set it down right away,� he whispered. “Hold it about half an inch away from the opening and make sure you don’t see or hear anyone. Quietly,� Garak continued, ignoring the slight look of affronted exasperation on the Terran’s face. He moved back against the wall as Bashir moved into position in front of him and slid around to the exit point.

Bashir couldn’t quite fit himself from head to knees into the space. He settled for turning his body away and lying in a position reverse from Garak’s, with his knees curled around the corner. Bashir slowly removed the sealing mechanisms, holding the middle handle tight in his left hand as his right finished the task. Pulling his body to the center of the tube, he grasped the covering with both hands and carefully pushed.

Light and the far wall revealed themselves in such slow increments that Bashir began to believe the covering wasn’t moving at all. He stopped all movement and held the cover in place. His eyes traveled the exposed semi-circle as far as they could. He saw nothing but the blank, empty corridor and heard nothing but the gentle whoosh, whoosh of the station’s ventilation system. He pushed out another half-inch. Still nothing. Finally, he lowered the covering halfway down, with his left elbow braced against the tube wall, and peered as far along his limited view of the corridor as possible.

Bashir placed the covering against the wall directly beneath him and sinuously slid out into the three-sided square of recessed space. His head, neck, and shoulders softly met the floor first, followed by rest of his lower body, as his right hand continued to hold the removed piece flush to the wall. He pushed up the wall and looked back down the tube foyer where he could barely see Garak’s head and shoulders. The Cardassian wore a keen look on his face, but dared not to say anything now that their plan had gained momentum. Bashir finally tucked his feet beneath him and replaced the cover without speaking.

To Garak it seemed the Terran had had an air of finality about him as he silently closed the tube. Garak knew it was no longer necessary to speak for the time being. Bashir had his assignment to complete and would do so to the best of his abilities. If he was caught, then he was caught, and Garak would then be also. He knew the Terran would have no reason to keep silent about him. They worked together towards a mutual benefit. There was no reason for everlasting loyalty if either of them failed.

Garak settled against the wall and resigned himself to waiting for the Terran to return. He could at least rest during the time it took Bashir to gather the docking information and Garak was at a very fine point by now. The positive effects of the hour of rest he had gleaned a short while ago had already deserted him. He needed to be sharp.

When Bashir returned with the information he would decide exactly which vessel would be best for their plans. They may have to take immediate action if the right possibility presented itself. Garak moved away from his place against the wall, and around the small corner, to settle back inside the tube proper. He would need to be away from the opening if the guards came.


Bashir stood within the recess for a few moments to collect his thoughts. He adjusted his clothing as well as should be expected of a slave that had just spent hours crawling through tubes and rummaging in squalor. Tucking his shirt within the loose belt around his waist, he ran his hands over the small attached bag of tools they had scrounged. The corridor holding the exit point was gently rounded and Bashir put his shoulder to the wall and gradually moved away from it into the center of the hall. He hoped that anyone watching on security cameras would believe he had been continuing from the other end of the corridor.

He walked steadily and tried to look like a normal someone going about their business. He kept his face blank and his movements economical, imagining that he could feel the unseen eyes of security upon him. He heard the odd distant door slide open or shut and the faint fall of footsteps now and then, but saw no one face to face.

His confidence grew with his gratitude and Bashir found himself quickening his pace towards the terminal. He rounded the corner and was in home stretch of the terminal when a woman wearing an Alliance medic uniform appeared from the opposite corner and stopped once she reached the terminal. Bashir had a momentary flash of panic and felt his eyes involuntarily widen. His face remained blank but his heartbeat quickened.

Bashir kept his face turned ahead and decided to pass the terminal without stopping. The woman, a Bajoran, was still bent over the screen and carrying on unseen business when he walked past her. Bashir continued around the corner until he came to another terminal. He activated it and checked the terminal’s registration number on the screen. Pretending that it didn’t match the number on the greasy piece of paper he pulled from his bag he quietly cursed and turned to go back.

He inwardly prayed that the medic had continued on her way, preferably in the same direction, as he slowly walked back to the chosen terminal. He broke off and chanted “Yes, yes, yes� in his head when the corner viewpoint disclosed only empty corridor. Bashir forced himself to finish his walk slowly and repeat the spectacle of carefully checking the registration number before keying diagnostic commands into the terminal.

He opened a separate window on the display panel and brought up the public docking information. While both sets of information were streaming in, he knelt in front of the machine and removed a small repair panel from the front. He would check for any immediately perceivable problems in the system of wiring behind the front panel, obviously find nothing wrong, and then make note of a larger, though still minor, problem that would need repairing from the inside.

In between stages of his faux diagnostics check, Bashir deepened his search of the docking information by carefully keying the access codes in. He quickly narrowed his choices down into two: a small cargo ship leaving late that evening or a personal shuttle that was due for liftoff in three hours. The cargo carrier had yet to finalize its flight plan, but Bashir was sure that it wouldn’t be a problem by departure time.

Since it was a cargo carrier, he and Garak would most likely stowaway. It wasn’t going to be loaded to capacity, so chances were the crew probably wouldn’t be keeping a strict eye on the ship’s exact weight anyhow. He cast a look at the larger vessels he had already dismissed, but found that most of them were traveling at a greater capacity than the cargo ship or most likely had tighter security. It would be difficult enough just getting aboard, let alone avoiding suspicious guards later.

Bashir memorized their information anyway, as well as possible, along with the cargo ship and the private shuttle. He completed the diagnostic check, put his tools away after closing the front panel, and pretended that the separate window holding the dock information were the official notes about his problem check. Closing all the windows, he stood and resisted stretching his lower back.

On his way back to the tube access point, Bashir half expected guards to come out of nowhere and drag him away. He saw no one and heard nothing. The station felt dead. He reverse blended into the wall the way he had before and waited a moment, then knelt and quietly removed the access cover. He didn’t see Garak in the tube and slid in feet first. Replacing the panel was harder than removing it and Bashir quietly strained to feel for the sealing mechanisms in the relative dark of the tunnel.

Once he was done, Bashir slid until his legs were around the corner and began to sit up. He turned his body around under the laddered access shaft and saw the Cardassian lowly sitting in the beginning of the tube. He was asleep. Bashir watched him breathe evenly and was irritated by the twinge of hard sympathy he felt for the exhaustion written in the Cardassian’s ridged face.

He crawled closer to where Garak was sitting against the wall and stopped short of entering the small space of tube not taken up by the sleeping man. Bashir knelt and leaned his upper body into the tube. He reached out a hand and placed it on the Cardassian’s far shoulder. The uniform beneath his hand was hard and felt horribly uncomfortable. Bashir’s thumb barely brushed the edge of one of the neck ridges and Garak came suddenly awake, instantly belying his intention to indifferently shake the Cardassian awake.

The arm connected to the shoulder on which Bashir’s hand sat instantly grasped and twisted the Terran’s forearm. Bashir felt his front smack the wall he had previously had his back to, as Garak pulled his right arm viciously behind his back. The Cardassian pinned Bashir’s left arm to his side and wrapped one hand around the immobilized man’s throat.

“It’s me!� Bashir burst out and felt the hold tighten till he began to see spots on his vision.

He felt ridiculously impressed that the Cardassian had done so much with so little space in which to maneuver. Just before he was sure he was blacking out, the hold loosened and Bashir felt himself being shoved away. He got the feeling he would have been flung if there had been more room.

He fell away from the Cardassian and lay on his side, gasping for breath and ignoring the tools uncomfortably digging into his hip. Bashir belatedly realized he had just barely missed smashing his head on the lower rungs of the access shaft. He rolled onto his back and stared up, wishing that it didn’t continue in endless nothing. Perhaps he shouldn’t wish to see stars again so soon.

Bashir laughed out loud at his own joke and set up a coughing fit as soon as the sound left his mouth. Beyond his own hacking noises he heard the Cardassian harshly hiss, “Let’s go. Now,� from between his teeth. He sounded beyond angry and Bashir watched him crawl down the tube through teary eyes.

Garak felt a multitude of indignities swarm over him at once. Crawling, dirty, exhausted, with a lowly slave – who had touched him! – and now embarrassed that he had almost killed his only ally because he had been surprised out of sleep. At least his reflexes were still sharp.

How he dearly wished it were all over. He pushed away fantasies of a bath, food, and sleep, and continued to crawl furiously through the tunnels. He heard the Terran behind him and felt a wave of cold resentment wash over him.

They returned to the dusty corridors in the bowels of the station and Bashir smirked at the figure of the smartly marching Cardassian in front of him. He raspily sniggered under his breath and came up short as Garak whipped around in front of him. The Cardassian stared at him with icy blue eyes and an incensed face. Bashir looked down then back up.

“I told you I wouldn’t kill you in your sleep. Guess you didn’t believe me, huh?� Bashir finally said, almost casually. He put his hands in his pockets and snorted softly, his chest briefly shaking with a silent laugh.

“You or anyone else,� came Garak’s immediate reply. Smiling slightly, his voice was succinct and tolerably courteous when he said, “It’s nothing personal, you see. It’s simply a necessary reflex in the lifestyle I’ve led. At least it had been until the most recent events of my life.� Pausing he added with a nod, “I’m immensely glad that the reflex has returned with the need.�

Bashir stared at him, no longer laughing, just curious. He felt slightly mesmerized and gathered himself to give a brief inclining of his head in acknowledgment of the Cardassian’s words. He turned them over in his mind and felt a dueling mixture of fear and fascination trembling together. He stared at Garak with his head down to one side and waited for him to speak again, not willing to purposely interrupt his own thoughts.

Garak took a deep breath and decided the Terran had nothing to say. It didn’t matter that a response wasn’t forthcoming, as long as Bashir understood him. He turned his mind back to more important subjects and motioned Bashir to follow him. They reached the room with one light, still empty, in scant minutes.

Garak listened as Bashir softly laid out the information he had gathered. The Terran was subdued again and Garak almost found his presence soothing. He agreed about the danger of the larger vessels and began to run through the pros and cons of their two best choices.

“Who owns the personal shuttle,� Garak finally asked.

“It was registered to an Ambassador Agnosi, but he’s traveling on one of the large diplomatic vessels that departed about an hour ago. The crew manifest listed three crew members and two civilian women. One of the women –�

“Is his mistress,� Garak interrupted. He was familiar with Agnosi’s habits. He chose a new mistress every few months and allowed her to travel with him in a private shuttle. The crew usually doubled as security and the other woman would be a companion.

Garak looked at Bashir, who was recovering from his surprise with an archly amused look. “Well, I guess that leaves stowing away on the carrier. I know I don’t want to be anywhere near an Ambassador’s piece. I wouldn’t spit twenty feet away from, let alone hijack, a diplomat’s mistress,� Bashir chuckled in a decisive tone.

“Hmm, too bad,� Garak murmured with false consolation. “Because that is precisely what we intend to do,� he continued more energetically, then clarified, “the hijacking, that is, though perhaps without the mistress.� And he smiled that keen smile again.

[Bonaparte]

Billiant sam,
I wondered if you will be doing anything with the Bajoran medicthat bit was really interesting.
look forward to part 6.
Bec.

[tatterdemallion]

Billiant sam,
I wondered if you will be doing anything with the Bajoran medicthat bit was really interesting.
look forward to part 6.
Bec.

Thank you, Bec .

I haven't really decided everything that's going to happen in part six, yet. Mainly I have visions of what Garak and Bashir are going to do with the shuttle crew, but until I actually write it, who knows . Is that vague enough ?

Sam.

[paulafromtwoson]

BRAVO~!

I'm in a internet-available hotel (so far, I've traveled from Connecticut to Montana -USA- )... I had a ton of fun reading these last two installments of the story! I really love it~!

I haven't had a chance to write a proper reply until now and I've forgotten what I wanted to say Well, I can at least remember that I wanted to mention how great of a job you've done with Garak's character! I know this is AU Garak, but you've still done a great job. I love how he occasionally loses his cool... It happened in the series from time to time but most fiction writers tend to ignore those instances and make him a flawless man of mystery. ...Either that or they make him an evil, blood-thirsty tyrant I almost came to the point of thinking that Garak could never be done correctly from his own personal point of view... You've done a great job with his character!

Well, I'd better go... I only get a few minutes of leisure time between sleeping and driving... and I've just spend them