My first fan-fic Options

[tatterdemallion]

This is my first fan-fic. I played a little fast and loose with what details I remembered of the Mirror Universe on DS9 so you could probably just consider this an AU-MU story. It hasn’t been betaed so any spelling or grammar mistakes are mine (as well as anything awkward or poorly written). I’d appreciate any sort of constructive feedback or comments but please be gentle since this is my first time.  The title is sort of a working one. X-posted on G/B Yahoo Groups.

Title: Daily Engagement
Author: Sam Wagley
Rating: G – PG (Not Slash; no smut)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Au-Mu Ds9 story. MU Bashir brings MU Garak his lunch everyday as part of his captivity duties.

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

As lowly labor went it wasn’t bad. Not as stomach turning as the stench of waste extraction. Not as fear inducing as hull repairs in the dead silence of space wearing an EVA suit that had surely seen better days. Not nearly as bad as being beaten, starved, tortured, or dead.

No, taking a meal a day to a chained Cardassian wasn’t bad at all and he should be grateful for the respite it provided from the rest of his existence composed of equal parts mundanity and terror.

It was even somewhat entertaining to watch the Cardassian try to feed himself with his neck chained four inches from the wall and his hands less than two feet from the same. He could barely strain his arm far enough to bring the tip of the feeding utensil to his mouth.

He couldn’t even scratch his nose.

If Bashir had been in a more sadistic mood, feeling his formerly cocky self, he would have laughed every time the Cardassian silently brought a morsel of food to his mouth only to have it fall on the dirty floor, completely irretrievable. The Cardassian barely deigned to make eye contact with him when he brought his midday meal each cycle and he was certainly too proud to ask for help with his food. The thought of him asking for anything, saying anything other than the occasional disdain-laced insult, was laughable.

Today, Bashir was feeling a little cocky, a little sadistic. Or maybe just curious and bored.

As usual, he walked to the dungeon-like holding cell and waited for his clearance from the two guards, busily pretending that they stood at attention the whole time. The rest of the prison was sparsely populated. Most prisoners were dealt with quickly here: lovingly accommodated in a private but short torture session, sent to distant planets to serve out their sentence with hard labor, or simply executed. It didn’t really matter – they all ended in death; unless you just weren’t important enough and could be useful in some of the more banal ways.

Like taking a meal to a prisoner.

Or, unless you had been important and could have that former importance rewarded by being made to feel completely unimportant.

Like being chained to a wall for an indefinite period of time, fed one meal a day by someone completely unimportant, and not even rating attentive guards.

Bashir waited for the cell door to slide shut before he slowly walked to the Cardassian, where he sat on the floor of his dark, windowless cell. It wasn’t completely dark – there were traces of recessed lighting coming from formless edges and corners. Just enough to faintly illuminate the ugly rust colored walls and the filth on the floor.

And just enough to softly wash over the chained Cardassian sitting with his back proudly braced against the wall like always. Pointedly staring at the opposite wall beside his cell door like always. At least like all the times Bashir had ever seen him.

His name was Garak. Bashir knew this, as did everyone else. Bashir thought of all the times he had seen him like this and speculated that his food must be laced with enough medication and stimulants to prevent serious muscle atrophy or the formation of sores on his legs, neck, or anywhere else friction was still a problem. He doubted if the Cardassian received medical attention. Bashir was probably the only person he ever saw besides glimpses of his guards. He briefly wondered if the Intendant ever wandered down here to taunt him. Of course, if she had then Garak would probably be in much worse condition.

Bashir set the metal tray of food on the floor close enough for Garak’s left arm to reach it but not so close that any movement from the rest of his body would upset it or hinder him. It was bland fare as food went and Garak finally looked at it with a resigned sneer on his face. This familiar countenance was a shade of one of the only two major expressions Bashir ever saw on his face: sneer and blank, if blank counted as another expression.

Bashir backed away a couple of paces and decided to sit and watch, as he did sometimes.

The Cardassian barely glanced at him before gracefully picking up his utensil and choosing one piece of indefinable mush over another. Bashir felt an amused curiosity grow and could barely contain himself. What he was trying to contain exactly was a mystery to him but all he knew was that he felt more like his old self when he stayed to watch Garak. He didn’t take particular joy in the Cardassian’s suffering, didn’t particularly hate him, so to speak. But there was little in his current life that made him feel anything. Perhaps it was because there were few safe venues for a slave to feel anything and no one seemed to be watching and no one seemed to care that he had salvaged this small bit of enjoyment from his life.

He didn’t analyze when he was “with” Garak, he didn’t do anything but complete his duty and take a small break to feel.

Garak’s food-laden utensil had successfully completed the journey several times now and the Cardassian seemed to feel a bit of triumph in that. Maybe that was what caused him to pause and wing a glance towards the hunched and watchful figure on the floor. Bashir read more than just disdain or condescension in the Cardassian’s eyes this time. Those were surely still present but there was also an answering amusement to his own that Bashir found disconcerting.

Was the Cardassian laughing at him?

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re finally enjoying yourself. I would hate to think that you don’t get as much out of our daily lunch engagement as I do,” Bashir suddenly rasped, his words slightly sarcastic and his body posture jocularly defiant.

The Cardassian simply stared for a few seconds and then his lips curled ever so faintly at the edges. To Bashir it seemed like the curl of something beginning to burn and felt himself slightly beaming his own twisted smile back for no reason he could discern. Garak lowered his head by only a few millimeters but the change it rendered in his visage was dramatic. Suddenly Bashir felt like he was the one chained to a wall, an animal being stared down by a predator, pinned by Garak’s glimmering eyes. The smile left his face. He wanted to squirm or get up and leave but his dignity wouldn’t allow it and settled for a tight shudder up his spine.

The Cardassian took this subtle play in and smiled even more before dismissing Bashir for his food. Under Bashir’s gaze he delicately but purposefully finished his straining meal and softly set his utensil beside the tray.

Bashir and his dignity decided that this moment would allow for a graceful exit and proceeded to tread the few paces that would allow him to retrieve Garak’s tray and utensil. He picked up the tray and reached for the utensil where Garak had laid it. Bashir felt no warning heat as the Cardassian’s hand slid around his wrist and gripped it lightly but firmly. He froze and heard a faint cursing in the back of his mind but it seemed faraway.

They stared at each other, Bashir with wide eyes and cautious breathing, Garak with assessing eyes and seeming to not breathe at all.

“Let go of my wrist,” Bashir said. The Cardassian raised his chin higher and that faint smile curved his lips again. Bashir suddenly felt ludicrous for being afraid of a man chained to a wall that couldn’t even reach him with both hands at once. He relaxed the tension he felt in his arm and slowly began to slip his wrist and then hand through the circle of Garak’s hand. Bashir couldn’t remember if Garak’s hold had been this loose before he relaxed or if the Cardassian had only really been playing with him.

As the tips of his fingers reached the edge of their incarceration he felt Garak rub them slightly and he shivered. Bashir slowly backed away from the Cardassian, clutching the metal tray in his right hand. Garak still watched him with that assessing, amused, slightly condescending look on his face.

As he turned for the door, Garak finally spoke, “Will you return tomorrow,” the Cardassian asked, far too pleasantly for someone chained to a wall and slowly withering. Bashir felt as though he’d been invited to tea by a mild and amusing acquaintance that held no further investment in his company than that of a fly. He didn’t turn back to look at the Cardassian or give an answer that he himself didn’t know.

He activated the door and ignored the man behind him on the floor.

The two guards barely glanced at him as he strode through the passage and began to make his way along the dim corridor back to the more alive parts of the station. It was only as he was returning the metal tray to a replicator in the dingy common area that he remembered the utensil left sitting on the floor beside the Cardassian.

Bashir thought of its sharp prongs and the barrage of useful things one could find for it to accomplish. He weighed the two heaviest of possibilities in his mind and wondered which would net him the most punishment for his transgression. Perhaps he should make his way back to the holding cell, the Cardassian’s dungeon, and alert the guards there that a prisoner was now in possession of a dangerous object.

He didn’t go back.

This post has been edited by tatterdemallion: Aug 17 2006, 07:26 AM

[paulafromtwoson]

This is my first fan-fic. I played a little fast and loose with what details I remembered of the Mirror Universe on DS9 so you could probably just consider this an AU-MU story. It hasn’t been betaed so any spelling or grammar mistakes are mine (as well as anything awkward or poorly written). I’d appreciate any sort of constructive feedback or comments but please be gentle since this is my first time.  The title is sort of a working one. X-posted on G/B Yahoo Groups.

Title: Daily Engagement
Author: Sam Wagley
Rating: G – PG (Not Slash; no smut)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Au-Mu Ds9 story. MU Bashir brings MU Garak his lunch everyday as part of his captivity duties.

Wow. Great job on this!

I hope you were just being modest about doubting your own writing ability: you definitely have nothing to worry about! Not only is it very well written, the fact that it was also carefully and thoughtfully written really shines through!

This story, without even especially trying to tie into the running plot of the MU storyline, almost perfectly captures my personal feelings about the Mirror Universe episodes in general. Seeing a sort of dark reflection of the characters you love is both sad because you're forced to see what those beloved characters might have become under different circumstances and because you can see the same potential for goodness in those characters' mirrors...

I've always thought the MU episodes were very interesting and entertaining... but also very grim. DS9 tackled war themes, death, etc. But I think some of the even more potent issues were faced in their dabbles with the grey between 'good' and 'evil' and characters facing the possibility that there wasn't always a "good" road to take. Seeing heroes turned to ruthless near-villains was more compelling a move than I think it's credited. I thought it was very smart of the writers to leave the MU ambivalent in so many ways.

Your story seems a great tribute to the MU episodes... Is there any chance of a sequel?? Either way, it's really hard to believe this is your first fanfic! Great job!

P.S. It's also good to see that Garak survived in some version of the mirror universe. The poor MU must have a terrible life expectancy!

[tatterdemallion]

Wow. Great job on this!

I hope you were just being modest about doubting your own writing ability: you definitely have nothing to worry about! Not only is it very well written, the fact that it was also carefully and thoughtfully written really shines through!

Thanks so much for your feedback. I got the idea a couple weeks ago and sort of toyed with writing about it, like I do many ideas. But for some reason I actually sat down and just did it this time. I think it's because someone who writes one of my favorite blogs recently decided to quit her job and just write full-time. I don't think I'll ever do that but becoming a better writer period has always been something I wanted to do.

Your story seems a great tribute to the MU episodes... Is there any chance of a sequel?? Either way, it's really hard to believe this is your first fanfic! Great job!

P.S. It's also good to see that Garak survived in some version of the mirror universe. The poor MU must have a terrible life expectancy!

I'm thinking of a sequel but not sure, yet.

Thanks again for your encouragement,
Sam.

[TOC]

I am very impressed. Well done! I plan to put a little mention in the newsletter that if someone wants to read an interesting alternate universe story with Bashir and Garak, the SidCity forum has a good one.

Carol

P.S. I plan to use these illustrations:

http://i73.photobucket.com/albums/i206/Mpl...dmirror_077.jpg

http://i73.photobucket.com/albums/i206/Mpl...dmirror_279.jpg

This post has been edited by TOC: Aug 18 2006, 12:22 AM

[tatterdemallion]

I am very impressed. Well done! I plan to put a little mention in the newsletter that if someone wants to read an interesting alternate universe story with Bashir and Garak, the SidCity forum has a good one.

Carol

Thanks, Carol!

[ulli]

Oh...I always liked the Mirror Universe episodes!
That is a really nice fanfic. Are you sure that it is your first?

Ulli

[tatterdemallion]

Oh...I always liked the Mirror Universe episodes!

Me, too! I always wanted more MU Bashir.

That is a really nice fanfic. Are you sure that it is your first?
Ulli

Thanks! Definitely my first; this is the first piece of fiction I've ever started and completed. I usually don't get past the first paragraph. I really hope this is a start towards sharpening my skills because I like writing. Now if I can just sustain my momentum and not be afraid .

[paulafromtwoson]

Thanks so much for your feedback. I got the idea a couple weeks ago and sort of toyed with writing about it, like I do many ideas. But for some reason I actually sat down and just did it this time. I think it's because someone who writes one of my favorite blogs recently decided to quit her job and just write full-time. I don't think I'll ever do that but becoming a better writer period has always been something I wanted to do.
I'm thinking of a sequel but not sure, yet.

Thanks again for your encouragement,
Sam.

I know what you mean... I've never written a fanfic, although I've done some translations of some of some of my more obscure Japan-based interests. I've toyed with the idea of writing fiction so often but I somehow doubt I'll ever have the nerve to actually write one

Anyway, while this stands alone very well... it's also begging to have a sequel made Wait, no. That's just me begging
Well, either way, this story is definitely a solid foundation. It would certainly hold up to the weight of a continuation! Like I've already, this is fantastic!

By the way, I forgot to mention how much I love MU fiction! They're always so creative!

[tatterdemallion]

I know what you mean... I've never written a fanfic, although I've done some translations of some of some of my more obscure Japan-based interests. I've toyed with the idea of writing fiction so often but I somehow doubt I'll ever have the nerve to actually write one

Just starting was the hardest part. I told myself that no one ever needed to read it if it turned out to be complete crap! The whole thing started as one long free-write. Have you ever tried that? Just write without stopping for ten minutes. It at least gets things going even if you don't use it.

Anyway, while this stands alone very well... it's also begging to have a sequel made Wait, no. That's just me begging
Well, either way, this story is definitely a solid foundation. It would certainly hold up to the weight of a continuation! Like I've already, this is fantastic!

By the way, I forgot to mention how much I love MU fiction! They're always so creative!

Awww, thanks! I might try another free-write tommorow and see where that goes.

Sam

[Bonaparte]

Sam,

This story was/is a Fantastic read, thank you for posting it.
I liked the capture of Bashir's bitterness and spite toward his situation in the MU,
(it was almost Cardassian ).

Being a huge of Garak's it was hard to see the Cardassian so defensless, but i guess, he would still be capable, of the endless mind games that are so him!

Also would you mind if I sent your story to a friend of mine?
Not sure if you have heard of Mark Russell Stanley (he tends to write slashy stuff) here's his site www.geocities.com/mrs260
and his favorites page www.geocities.com/mrs260/favourites.html
I think Mark would love your work.

Anyway, I'm Looking forward to a sequal.
Ma al Salama,
Bec
P.s if you do check out the favorites page I reccomend Peace on Earth it's very



This post has been edited by Bonaparte: Aug 18 2006, 04:39 AM

[tatterdemallion]

Sam,

This story was/is a Fantastic read, thank you for posting it.
I liked the capture of Bashir's bitterness and spite toward his situation in the MU,
(it was almost Cardassian ).

Thank-you! His feelings about his life are playing a pretty big role in what I'm writing now. I think the MU Bashir is already different from normal-Bashir in some very harsh ways. My fic supposes what he would be like if he weren't the cocky, swaggering MU Bashir anymore; if a lot of his fire had been banked by capture and enslavement. I think that makes him "almost Cardassian".

Also would you mind if I sent your story to a friend of mine?
Not sure if you have heard of Mark [/size][/color]Russell Stanley (he tends to write slashy stuff) here's his site www.geocities.com/mrs260
and his favorites page www.geocities.com/mrs260/favourites.html
I think Mark would love your work.

Thank-you for the offer but I already beat 'ya to the punch with that one, sweetie. I posted the story over on the G/B Yahoo Group and Mark is a regular there. I've lurked there forever and this story was my first posting. Great minds must think alike .

Anyway, I'm Looking forward to a sequal.

A little over two pages as I post.
Thanks again,
Sam.

[paulafromtwoson]

Just starting was the hardest part. I told myself that no one ever needed to read it if it turned out to be complete crap! The whole thing started as one long free-write. Have you ever tried that? Just write without stopping for ten minutes. It at least gets things going even if you don't use it.
Awww, thanks! I might try another free-write tommorow and see where that goes.

Sam

*Sigh* Yes, I've tried... I agree that it works.
The only problem is that I can't ever write a story that finishes in just one or two sittings. I just naturally tend to write longwindedly (ha, even my forum comments are long ). It works fine in some instances--like in writing stories that rival encyclopedia length--but terribly for fanfiction. I just never have the time to invest in completeing a lengthy fanfiction (and it would be lengthy) nor the self dicipline to not go off on wild, winding tangents.
I do, however, have one basic plot that I've decided to stick with. Whenever I think, "maybe I should write a DS9 story," I work on it.

Anyway, I do feel very much inspired to write after reading a good piece of fiction - like yours!

So, I hope to see more of your work in the future!!

[tatterdemallion]

I am very impressed. Well done! I plan to put a little mention in the newsletter that if someone wants to read an interesting alternate universe story with Bashir and Garak, the SidCity forum has a good one.

Carol

P.S. I plan to use these illustrations:

http://i73.photobucket.com/albums/i206/Mpl...dmirror_077.jpg

http://i73.photobucket.com/albums/i206/Mpl...dmirror_279.jpg

Aww, Carol that's great! Fantastic! I'm ridiculously psyched about this. I'm excitable . It also remedies one of the problems I realized with my fic after I had posted: I didn't include much physical description of Garak or Bashir . Of course, I suppose thats the good thing about fanfiction from t.v. - most people reading it already know what the characters look like, otherwise I'd be up a creek .
Thanks Carol .

, Sam

ETA: Paula, write your *opus. I'll read it. Lengthy can be good.

*Technical misuse of the word opus, but I couldn't think of another word .


This post has been edited by tatterdemallion: Aug 18 2006, 12:37 PM

[tatterdemallion]

Yay, next part!

Hi! Here’s the continuation of the first story I posted yesterday. Again, unbetaed and any problems belong to me. I’d also appreciate any comments or feedback. Thanks, Sam.

Title: Daily Engagement, Part Two
Author: Sam Wagley
Rating: G – PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: An AU-MU DS9 story. A day in the life of Bashir after the events of Part One. This one’s sort of introspective and doesn’t have much Garak in it (sorry), but hopefully the next part will be more pleasing on that front.

When he heard the klaxons begin their wail he did not immediately recall those heavy and briefly contemplated possibilities. He twisted in his thin, musty blankets and pressed his forehead to the floor, burrowing as far away from the blare and flash as possible. The flashing red was worse than the sound. The pulsing light always entered his eyes and dug into his brain like a serrated knife. He heard muffled voices and occasional shouts but nothing reminded him of what he should have remembered already, until the absent scrape of metal on metal reminded him of a man chained to a wall.

He reared up out of his twisted position, momentarily distracted from the pain in his head by the pain in his back. He lay back down on his side and curled into a fetal position. He breathed deep as he stretched, resetting the muscles, discs, and cartilage in his spine to a more soothing condition. Mouth slightly twitching with self-derisive humor he thought of a time when moving wrong wouldn’t require a lengthy recovery. He felt old and frail. He was barely thirty-three. He wished he were ninety-three. Sometimes he sort of wanted his life to be over.

When he stood up he felt better. He was accustomed to his mood swings, his dark humor, a sometimes dangerous lack of emotional control. He crept towards the entrance of the alcove he shared with two other slaves, one breathing peacefully, the other murmuring under his breath and scratching in his sleep, and peered out the open entrance. The alcove was never really closed. It had no door to speak of, only loose netting that hooked from side to side. Bashir smirked at the thought of privacy and took in the goings on of the mini-promenade outside the alcove. Or rather he would have if there had been anything going on. He felt decidedly anticlimactic as he stared into star-washed darkness with barely a shadow or a flickering of anything interesting.

The alcove was tucked between two larger premises and back down what would be a side-alley to the promenade proper’s street. Down here, on the lower level, it was quieter than the upper promenade; never quite as bustling or important during the “daytime” of the station cycle. At night it was even more peaceful and Bashir was glad for that. He unhooked one side of the netting and softly walked down the wide wedge-shaped corridor between the two shops he never shopped in and glanced both ways down the promenade before following the curve of the wall to a large view-port. He felt small and big at the same time as he stood in the starlight and halfway tucked himself into the cradle of the port.

The next morning everyone buzzed about the prisoner that had escaped from one of the more unfortunately appointed holding cells. Bashir had not gone back the next day after he had “mislaid” the eating utensil and now, on the second day since, it seemed quite clear exactly what task it had been used to accomplish during the night. He hoped that the fellow slave he had fobbed his former task onto, of bringing the Cardassian his meal, would not bear much of the blame; of course, he didn’t wish to either so he couldn’t really bring himself to hope too fondly if it meant more unpleasantness for him. He wouldn’t be surprised at all if they were both punished, especially knowing a slave’s worth on Terok Nor and the Intendant’s penchant for cruel and unusual.

He peered around the small area where he and several other slaves were cramped, eating their first ration of food for the day, and talking lowly. Bashir sat by himself, or as nearly as was possible, and was thankful that the station had dialed the alert back to yellow. It was infinitely more pleasing than red and only caused a slightly hazy throb in his skull. He felt almost hypnotized by it and faintly smiled as he thought of the Cardassian and where he must be on the station.

He could picture him in one of the lengths of twisting, dirty bowels of the station into which he supposedly had disappeared. He was probably crawling somewhere, covered in layers of must and sweat, feeling every strain of every muscle that had gone so viciously unused for months now. It was enough to make Bashir grin… and feel slightly sympathetic. He berated himself for using his meager portion of sympathy, twice now, on anyone but himself and got up to return the leavings of his “meal” to the replicator.

“Hey…hey, Juli,” Bashir heard the huff and slightly nasal whine of Hen, the slave he had so gladly given his unwanted duty to the day before. Hen always sounded a little excited and a little worried whenever Bashir had the misfortune of communicating with him. He wondered how he could have the energy for either.

“Hey, that Cardassian,” Hen huffed out, sounding a little sick too now but still impossibly stirred up. “He, uh, you think he’s really still here or long gone?”

“He’s probably still here,” Bashir said evenly with his head slightly cocked to one side. His eyes winced slightly as he watched Hen’s cheeks become more flushed and a sheen of unhealthy sweat cover his face. Covered it again, Bashir realized as he saw the darkened remnants of a soaked collar and smelled salt mixed with flesh and grime. They both swallowed convulsively at the same time, for different reasons.

Bashir stared at Hen and looked down where the little man was shuffling his feet in a sad dance and followed his twitchy legs back up to where twitchier hands were shoved in pockets. He looked at the wrist above Hen’s left pocket and wondered if Garak had wrapped his cool grip around it the day before. He doubted it – the Cardassian had already gotten what he needed from Bashir.

Bashir went about his forced business that day and tried to dismiss thoughts of both men from his mind. Hen was easier to ignore than Garak. His guilt about Hen’s unknowing part in the miniscule utensil drama melted into his larger guilt about providing the Cardassian with the means to end all their lives in the first place.

Bashir felt torn between his apathy and rage; numb or wild; humbly to the slaughter or shouting and kicking with dignity. If one could shout and kick with dignity. Bashir snorted and suppressed the urge to scream that he could have his dignity anyway he pleased if he wanted. And he wanted so badly.

Bashir breathed deeply and ignored all the voices in his head saying: revolt, kill the person beside you, destroy, sabotage, subvert; and listened to the ones saying: breathe, be quiet, suppress, calm. He felt as though he were coming to a place where the two sets of voices literally represented Death or Life.

Of course, maybe those two sides and the daily choice between them wouldn’t matter much longer. Maybe a grip around his wrist, a lost utensil, and an escaped Cardassian would nullify any active choosing on his part.

He continued going about his assortment of daily odd jobs, keeping one desultory eye out for Hen, and hoping to avoid anymore miserably rambling conversations about the possible outcomes of their lives. He couldn’t keep up with the amount of energy and emotional distress the man seemed to heedlessly toss out.

Hours later, Bashir made his way down one of the inner corridors of the station. He cast a wary eye at the guards stationed at each maintenance tube entrance and recalled the whispers and half-murmurs of the day about various plans to smoke the Cardassian out. Plans to release gases and chemical agents into the labyrinth of ducts and abandoned spaces where Garak might be holed up. Gases that could attack his nervous system, disrupt his ability to reason, or kill him outright.

Never-mind the “unofficial” residents of the station that used those lost spaces as shelter, hiding from sensors, and the Intendant. They would die like other less-sentient, unofficial residents – voles, vermin.

Bashir flinched at the thought that they might release the agents while he was in the maintenance ducts completing the simple repairs he had been assigned. He dismissed that as irrational along with the fact that guards were stationed at every tube. All the ducts couldn’t possibly be completely connected. Too large a security risk. He couldn’t escape through the one he would be making repairs in and likewise, Garak couldn’t suddenly pop out of most of the ones being guarded.

But perhaps security was just being as cautious and careful as they knew the Cardassian to be crafty and ruthless. Who knew, maybe Garak had procured a mini blowtorch and a disruptor and planned to cut his way through duct walls straight to the Intendant and reduce her to subatomic particles.

Bashir almost chuckled at the thought. He suppressed it out of deference to the guards currently checking his assignment clearance and removing the cover of the problematic maintenance tube. His face carefully blank, carefully subdued, he slid his long, thin length into the tube and waited for the guards to replace the covering before shimmying towards the inner panels that needed to have their innards recalibrated.

This tube definitely went nowhere. The main passage Bashir currently traveled continued past a cross section about five feet before ending in a blank curvature of tubing. The cross-section portions ended about four feet on either side and were covered in various units of coolant systems and glowing circuits. Bashir scanned circuits, repaired trouble sections of wiring, and prepared to do a final once over of his work before closing up.

Bashir glanced at the blank section of tube and flashed on a Cardassian cutting his way through the wall and peering through the superheated hole at him. He shook away his reverie and finished his work, then lightly tapped on the covering to alert the guards of his readiness to exit. Almost two hours had passed while the maintenance tube was being serviced and he was glad to slide out of the cramped space into the more spacious corridor.

He waited until he had turned a corner to try and work some of his kinks and stiffness out. Somehow it seemed undignified to stretch in front of guards or maybe just too personal. Perhaps they would think he was being too familiar. He wanted to curl up in himself at the thought but settled for a small shiver along his shoulder blades. He consoled himself with dry thoughts of how unfortunately limited his circle of interpersonal relationships had become. There was probably no one on the station whom he could be at ease with.

Thoughts of the Cardassian again crept into his mind. He began to see his fascination with him as a good thing, something to think about, ponder, mull; not his numbingly mundane present, not his hazy memories of circumspect freedom with the resistance, not his carefully tucked away hopes for a future. Hope was very difficult…very difficult to possess. Bashir had removed himself from hope. The concept almost confused him.

He spent the rest of his afternoon and evening working the kitchens and laundry rooms that handled food and clothing preparations for the Intendant and other lauded residents of the station whom the she had smiled upon. It was grunt work – dish washing, handling harsh chemicals, loading and carrying things. Slaves seldom were involved in the more delicate proceedings of servicing the Intendant. They wouldn’t dare let someone like Bashir near fine linens or hand-painted serving platters; the food he might contaminate with the small vermin in his clothing and hair.

Thinking of food that wasn’t mushy globs or dry slats of ration made Bashir’s stomach turn with both want and revulsion. He didn’t dare contemplate swiping an errant roll or slice of fruit for the certain fear that he would betray himself by vomiting it immediately. He gladly finished stacking a small palette of empty cargo crates and stood on the fringes of a group of his fellow ne’er-do-wells, awaiting permission to return to wherever they bedded for the night. They were each given a small ration packet, their second for the day, to take with them and wearily hustled through the halls of the station’s service area.

He picked at the ration while his sleeping mates consumed theirs at a slightly faster speed and waited for them to settle into slumber with his eyes gently shut. He opened his eyes and marveled at patterns on the very dimly lit ceiling of the alcove. He let his sight swirl and adjust to shapes and distances, pick out faint lines of recognition, and felt the hollowness of the ceiling blur him over the edges into sleep.

He felt himself slipping down, down, down and savored it. When the hand brushed across his lips and firmly settled on his mouth he thought it was a feather.

This post has been edited by tatterdemallion: Aug 18 2006, 01:07 PM

[Bonaparte]

Loved part 2.

Can't wait for the next bit, this part of your story really gave us a fantastic look at how Bashir is thinking and feeling.
It will be fun to learn what Garak was up to while he was missing.
Hopefully, we'll find out soon.
Bec

[ulli]

Now you have to write a third part.
I really enjoyed reading it. I think the fact that we don't know as much about the MU-characters as about the "normal" characters leaves a lot of possibilities....

Ulli

[tatterdemallion]

Thanks, Bec and Ulli!

I definitely agree that the MU gives me greater possibility as well as a better chance to play around with characterization. Maybe I'll attempt a regular-Universe at some point but I'm kind of just happy to take a chance with less-defined templates than the normal Garak and Bashir. It's fun and I can be all sorts of crazy slightly creative with character .

Sam .

[paulafromtwoson]

Yay~! We got a sequel!!

Wow, part two was great too!
Amazing job!

This part really did a good job of portraying Bashir's slave livestyle. I especially liked this paragraph:

Bashir felt torn between his apathy and rage; numb or wild; humbly to the slaughter or shouting and kicking with dignity. If one could shout and kick with dignity. Bashir snorted and suppressed the urge to scream that he could have his dignity anyway he pleased if he wanted. And he wanted so badly.

I can imagine the feeling pretty vividly. It's no surprise that rebellion would be brewing in such a bleak, hopeless reality...

Now I really want to see what happens next!

Even a confrontation with the escaped Garak doesn't seem much worst that Bashir's present situation. I wonder what's going to happen...
I can't wait for chapter 3!

ETA: Paula, write your *opus. I'll read it. Lengthy can be good.

*Technical misuse of the word opus, but I couldn't think of another word

Well, if I ever do finish my opus, this will be the first place I post it!
Thanks for the encouragement!

[tatterdemallion]

Well, if I ever do finish my opus, this will be the first place I post it!
Thanks for the encouragement!

No, thank-you! All this excitement is exciting.
I'm going to read up on MU-Garak and proceed from there with part three.

Sam .

ETA: Oh, look, my 100th post.

This post has been edited by tatterdemallion: Aug 19 2006, 10:24 AM

[Bonaparte]

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.