Images in a Broken Mirror
DS9(AU) - G/B - R
Kathryn Ramage
November 1999

/~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~//~*~/

Summary: An alternate alternate-universe story.  While 
Kira is forced to cooperate with First Officer Garak's 
plans to assassinate the Intendant, Bashir suffers a 
traumatic incident that affects his friendship with 
Garak. Later on, Kira and Bashir are taken back to the 
mirror universe with Sisko to aid the Terran revolution. 

Rating: R for a non-consensual alt-G/B scene. There is 
also a minor f/f scene (my first!), and a secondary 
character death.

Setting: The first part of this story, "The Alternate 
Intendant," is set at the same time the 2nd-season 
episode "Crossover" occurs; my story diverges from 
"Crossover" about half-way through, and some of the 
dialog used here is taken from that episode.  

The second part, "A Revolution in Looking-Glass Land," 
is set a year later, around the same time as the 3rd 
season's "Through the Looking Glass"--although, with 
the exception of the rescue of alt-Jennifer, the plot 
of that story and mine are different.  The alt-
characters featured here are not the same ones that 
appear in that episode.

Disclaimer:  Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and all 
the characters even if they never really knew what 
to do with them.  This story was written purely for 
entertainment purposes.

/~*~//~*~//~*~/ 

The Alternate Intendant

/~i~/

To Kira, the most disturbing aspect of this alternate
universe that she and Bashir had strayed into was her 
own counterpart.  That _other_ Kira Nerys who swaggered 
with arrogance and aggressive sensuality, lips curved 
into a predator's smile and eyes glinting with a hunger 
that approached madness.  It wasn't the Intendant's 
casual cruelty itself that shocked her--she had seen 
it all before during the Occupation--but the knowledge 
that these same Cardassian-like qualities were somewhere 
in her.  It was _her_ body that swaggered.  Her mouth 
that smiled after sending Quark off to be executed, 
and announced that she was throwing a party. Her eyes 
with that mad glint.  This was a person she might have 
become if her life had taken a different path.

And perhaps she was a little closer to this other Nerys 
than she would have liked to admit. She couldn't forget 
that, when they'd first met, she had admired the 
Intendant's self-confidence and envied her position in 
this universe's Alliance, where Bajor was a powerful 
presence.

The other people she had met on this space station were 
also unsettling reflections of people she knew on DS9: 
the raffish pirate Sisko, the appallingly decent Quark, 
and her counterpart's first officer, a Garak just as 
treacherous as the one Commander Sisko allowed to stay 
on DS9, but more personally ambitious and less subtle 
in getting what he wanted.

When she returned to her quarters with her dress for 
the Intendant's party, First Officer Garak was waiting 
for her.

"She'll never let you leave, you know. Can't you tell? 
She's in love!" he began, explaining what Kira already 
knew.  "You're the perfect gift for the girl who has 
everything.  She's taken you into her heart.  Who else 
could she share her deepest secrets with?  Tell her 
troubles to?  Trust with her life?" 

When she pointed out the guards at her door, Kira 
received an unsettling surprise: the guards were not 
there at the Intendant's order, but placed by Garak. 
She began to regard her visitor more warily.

"Oh, she trusts you," he continued cheerfully, "as much 
as she trusts anyone.  So, who better to betray her?"

He had come to his point.  This Garak was interested 
in "career advancement"--a venture, he told her, which 
required risk.  Except that he wanted _her_ to be the 
one to take the risk for _his_ advancement.

"Consider my offer carefully, my dear.  She'll never 
let you go.  I will.  If you want to leave, you'll 
assist me."

"How?" Kira asked.

"By taking her place."

"_What_?"

"By tomorrow morning, she will be gone."

"Gone," she echoed, although she understood exactly 
what he meant.  She needed to hear the words spoken 
plainly, no twisted Cardassian half-truths, and to 
know precisely what he wanted from her before she 
could decide how to respond.

"She will be _gone_," the First Officer repeated 
impatiently. "Please, don't make me use some foolish 
euphemism. You will assume her place as Intendant, 
and announce that your counterpart from the other 
side has returned to wherever she came from.  In a 
few days, you will step down to embark on a spiritual 
journey, to explore your _pagh_ or whatever--" His 
dismissive tone told her that, even in this universe, 
Cardassians had no respect for the Bajoran faith.  
"And I will take your place as Intendant."

It was no more than she had expected.  In fact, it 
was even less complicated. "What about my friend?" she 
asked.

"The Terran boy? Yes."  Garak smiled. "He will be taken 
into my custody. I promise you that he won't be harmed, 
as long as you cooperate. In fact, he'll be treated to 
as much hospitality as we Cardassians can offer until 
you resign--and then you can be happily reunited." The 
smile disappeared and he stepped closer with deliberate 
menace. "I've made arrangements with his supervisor.  
If you should decide to decline my offer, tomorrow, it 
will be your human friend who will be gone."

He didn't wait for an answer, but blew her a kiss and 
left her alone to think things over.

/~*~/

Julian knew that he couldn't have been stuck here in 
ore processing for more than five or six hours, but it 
seemed like a miserable eternity.

Back at the Academy, when he'd studied the missions of 
the famous Captain James T. Kirk, he had been thrilled 
and intrigued by the idea of an alternate universe.  
What an adventure that must have been!  Imagine, a 
reality where everything was a mirror reflection of 
his own. A dark Federation. A Starfleet run like the 
pirate ships in old swashbuckling stories.  A mirror 
version of one's self.  And now, he was actually in 
that same universe. Adventure?  Hardly.  He'd been 
dragged away the minute he and Major Kira had arrived 
and put to this dirty, grubby, back-aching work under 
the unrelenting gaze of a rigid, martinet Odo who 
took every sign of his weariness or word out of his 
mouth as an opportunity to slap him around.

Kira had been more lucky; _her_ counterpart was in 
charge of this station--Terek Nor, they called it here
--and she had more freedom to move around than a lowly 
human would ever be allowed. She had come down to the 
processing center hours ago, to see if he was all right, 
to tell him where they were, and to make plans for 
their escape.  They had agreed that, since a trans-
porter accident had sent Captain Kirk to this alternate 
universe originally, then another transporter might 
be used to get them home.  Kira had gone in quest of 
access to a transporter, and Bashir had not seen her 
since. For his own part, he had made friendly overtures 
to this reality's Miles O'Brien; Julian had seen him 
working at the ore-processing equipment and he believed 
that this O'Brien must have the same talent for tech- 
nology as his friend did. 

His first efforts had been rebuffed, and O'Brien had 
been summoned to make some repairs elsewhere, but 
Bashir hadn't given up yet.  If this man was at all 
like _his_ Chief O'Brien, then it was just a matter of 
being persistent.  Julian knew he could win him over. 
He planned to try again tonight, after this work-shift 
was over. He had heard that the mine-workers had their 
meals in a common area. If he found O'Brien there, 
he'd make a point of sitting with him. He would talk 
about his own universe, since the last time they had 
talked, that had been the one thing O'Brien had seemed 
interested-  

"Doctor."

Julian looked up from his thoughts.  Overseer Odo had 
been talking to a pair of Klingon guards who'd come in 
a few minutes ago--but still kept an eye on him all 
the while.  Now, the shapeshifter wore a grim little 
smile that told Bashir that nothing good was about to 
happen.

"Come here, Doctor." The word dripped with sarcasm. 
As if any human in this universe could ever become a 
physician! "This is going to be your last shift here."

Julian rose warily from the pile of ore he had been 
sorting through, and took one reluctant step.

He moved too slowly for Odo. "Come on!" An arm extended 
in his direction, becoming a sort of amorphous tentacle 
as it wrapped around his upper body and yanked him 
forward.  He was nearly thrown against one of the 
Klingons, who grabbed a fistful of his uniform and 
hauled him out. 

/~*~/

When Kira reached the processing center shortly after-
wards, intending to warn Bashir that he was in danger, 
the doctor was nowhere in sight.

She turned, demanding, to Odo.

"Your Terran is no longer assigned to my processing 
crew, Ma'am," he informed her with a bow of deference. 
If nothing else, she was the Intendant's twin and, for 
the moment, a favored guest.  Nevertheless, Odo wore 
a small smile of amusement that Kira found ghastly on 
such a familiar face.  "Subintendant Garak has taken 
him into protective custody.  He's been escorted to 
the First Officer's quarters."

/~*~/

She'd been too slow. Damn it! Kira cursed to herself 
as she stalked swiftly back to the turbolift. Although 
she had no particular fondness for Bashir, she did not 
want to see him in Cardassian hands. 

She emerged from the lift near her own quarters; Garak 
was there, waiting for her again.  

His eyes widened with exaggerated sympathy.  "Is there 
something wrong, my dear?" And Kira was certain that he 
knew where she had just been. 

"You've got him, haven't you?"

"Yes." He sounded surprised that she had to ask. "I 
told you that I had made arrangements.  Did you think 
I would wait until _after_ you and I had had our 
conversation to enact them?" 

No, Kira admitted to herself. Of course Garak would have 
sent someone down to take Bashir even before he'd spoken 
to her; it was only reasonable to expect him to take 
measures to insure her cooperation beforehand. 

As the First Officer observed her obvious frustration, 
his expression grew more smug.  He had her, and he knew 
it: as long as he held the doctor hostage, she had no 
choice but to go along with his plans. 

"All right," she hissed through her teeth.  "What do 
I have to do?"

He told her.

/~*~/

Bashir continued to struggle against the guards, in 
spite of several gauntleted cuffs to the side of his 
head.  Miserable as ore processing had been, they might 
be taking him to someplace far worse. As he was dragged 
down the corridors, he envisioned any number of horrific 
possible destinations: A small, dank cell, where he 
would be locked up and forgotten.  An interrogation 
chamber, where he would be tortured for information 
about the universe he had come from, and the wormhole 
that had brought him here.  He remembered reading 
about the neural "agonizers" used on the crew of the 
alternate-Enterprise; did this Klingon/Cardassian/
Bajoran Alliance have something similar?  If he wasn't 
going to be interrogated, he might have been selected 
for target practice. Or he was about to be publicly 
executed.  The Klingons might have orders to toss him 
out of an airlock, for all he knew. 

The last place he expected to be taken was a lush, 
private suite in the habitat ring. 

Julian's first thought as they hauled him into the 
sitting room with its blood-red rugs and wall-hangings 
and ornately carved furniture was that he had been 
brought to see the Intendant, but the murky lighting 
and the decor were unmistakably Cardassian.  A Car-
dassian wearing a plain servant's tunic received them.

One of the guards thrust Bashir forward. "The Terran 
Subintendant Garak sent for."

The Cardassian nodded.  "I will inform him. The Sub-
intendant requires you to remain--but outside, please."  
And, after the Klingons had retreated to stand watch 
outside the door, he turned to Bashir.  "Remain where 
you are, Terran."  His eyes swept over the grime-
covered young man with a small frown of disgust. "Don't 
touch anything, and try not to get any of your dirt 
on the carpet."

Julian remained where he was while the Cardassian went 
to a nearby comm-panel.  His mind was busy with new 
possibilities.   

Subintendant Garak. He had only seen this universe's 
Garak briefly, when he'd first arrived on Terek Nor, 
and he had no time to assess the character of this 
mirror-version of his friend.  All he could recall 
was how much more intimidating Garak had looked in a 
Cardassian officer's uniform, and how strange this 
Garak's voice had sounded--so harsh and blunt, without 
that teasing, conversational lilt.  

How different was this Garak from the man he knew? 
Bashir had formed a theory that this universe wasn't 
so much a 'mirror' of his own reality as an uglier 
variation, where one's worst potential was encouraged 
to develop to its fullest: Odo's desire for order had 
made him a petty tyrant here; O'Brien's caution had 
become suspicion and open hostility.  And as for 
Garak...?

For that matter, what did he know about _his_ Garak? It 
had only been recently, when Garak had been tormented 
by the deactivation of his implant, that Julian had 
gained any insight into the Cardassian's true nature--
disturbing and intriguing hints extracted from a tangle 
of lies. And, only recently, when his friend had nearly 
died, had he begun to realize how much he cared for the 
mysterious tailor.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Terek Nor's First 
Officer arrived.

"What's this all about, Garak?" Bashir demanded. "Why 
bring me here?"

And, in reply, he was slapped hard enough to throw him 
off balance.

Garak caught him by the arm.  "Terrans do not address 
me in that tone," he snapped.  "You are here for one 
reason: you are useful to control your Kira Nerys. You 
ensure that she performs a service I require.  I have 
no other reason to let you live." He tapped the bridge 
of Julian's nose lightly, almost playfully, but there 
was a warning in his eyes.  "Remember that."  Then he 
turned to address the servant:  "Revar, see that our 
guest has something to eat-" He released his grip on 
Bashir, and regarded the ore-dust smeared on the palm 
of his own hand with distaste.  "And an opportunity to 
bathe.  Get him out of those filthy clothes."

Revar bowed.  "It will be done, Subintendant."

"But first, you will assist me.  I have a party to 
attend tonight."

/~ii~/

As Kira entered what had been Quark's Place before the 
Ferengi's execution earlier that day, she noted with 
relief that neither Garak nor the Intendant had arrived 
at the party yet.  But Sisko was lounging sullenly at 
the bar.

Although she had to be cautious for the sake of Bashir's 
safety, she was still chafing at her helplessness.  She 
couldn't just let Garak assassinate the Intendant; there 
had to be _something_ she could do to thwart his plans.
Now that Quark was dead, Sisko was her only possible 
ally.  

She didn't know quite what to make of this Sisko; she 
saw nothing in him that was like her commander, but if 
the Prophets had any influence in this universe, there 
must be a spark of the Emissary somewhere inside this 
man. She had to try and reach it.

As she crossed the room toward him, Sisko gave her a 
tooth-baring smile.  "Nice dress."  His eyes ran slowly 
down her in a way she found disturbing, not only because 
he was the counterpart of her commander, but also in 
light of his relationship with the Intendant.  He had 
tried to threaten her with the same aggressive tactics 
when they'd first met, but her mission was too urgent 
for her to be intimidated.

"We have to talk," she said and took the seat beside 
him. "I need your help."

Sisko gulped his drink and did not look interested.

"It's about the Intendant.  Her life is in danger."

"Garak?"

Kira was surprised.  "How do you know?"

He giggled. "Garak's been planning to kill her and take 
her place since the day he got here." 

"Well, this time, he wants _me_ to take her place."

Another giggle. "That's more creative than he usually 
gets."  

"We have to put a stop to this," Kira persisted.

"What makes you think I _want_ to stop this?" Sisko 
replied.  He did not look at her as he spoke, but kept 
his eyes warily on the Klingon and Bajoran officers 
nearest them. "Even if Garak works up the nerve to get 
rid of her, what difference would it make to me? One 
Intendant's just the same as another."

"You'd have the same bargain with him?" she asked 
pointedly. 

He snorted. "I've heard some stories about Garak, but I 
doubt I'm his type."

"And you think he'll let you go on playing pirate like 
_she_ has, let you keep your ship and your crew?"

"Why not, if I don't get in his way?"

"So you're on his side?" 

"I'm on nobody's side but my own," Sisko answered.  He 
dropped his gaze, and their conversation came to an end 
when Garak entered the room.  

"My dear." The Cardassian advanced toward them. "How 
breath-taking you look.  A perfect twin for our 
Intendant, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Sisko?"

Sisko lifted his eyes, not to Garak, but to the doorway 
behind Kira.  He murmured, "Nice dress," again as the 
crowd around them burst into applause; the Intendant, in 
an identical purple party-gown, was making her entrance.  

"Play something bright!" she announced with a smile. 
"I'm in a happy mood!"  The musicians began to play a 
Bajoran festival melody, and she held out one hand 
toward the trio at the bar. "Benjamin, dance with me." 
It was not a request.

Sisko went to her.  Garak took his seat and leaned 
close to the Major's ear. "I know what you've been 
trying to do," he hissed, "but you won't receive any 
assistance from Mr. Sisko--he hates the Intendant as 
much as I do."

"I know it," Kira answered under her breath, outraged, 
humiliated, and terrified at having been caught. "But 
your plan isn't going to work.  It's too dangerous.  
There are too many people around."

"It will work," he whispered back.  "Be patient. She'll 
ask you to dance next, and everything will happen just 
as I've told you it will. I'll let you know when it's 
time.  By the way, I wouldn't recommend trying to warn 
her. If she doesn't blame you for not going to her right 
away, I'll swear that you've been my willing accomplice 
from the beginning, that you agreed to work with me 
because I offered to send you back to your own universe. 
She'll believe that. She knows you've been looking for 
a way to leave Terek Nor. I can almost guarantee that 
you'll be executed by my side. And don't forget about 
your Terran companion."

She shot a glaring glance in his direction.  "I swear 
that if you've done anything to him, Garak..."

"Not a thing!" the Cardassian insisted and, as one of 
the human servants approached with a bottle of kanar 
and two glasses on a tray, took it. "He's being well 
cared for. My personal valet is seeing to his comfort."  
He filled one glass and, tilting the bottle, offered 
to fill the other for her.  When Kira did not respond, 
he went on:  "A charming young man.  I would hate to 
have to harm him.  Of course, whether or not I _will_ 
harm him is entirely up to you." He sipped his drink 
and turned at the sound of the Intendant's laughter; 
she pressed herself close against Sisko as the two 
of them spun together.  "All you have to do is follow 
my instructions. I'll be watching to see that you do."

What followed was like a bad dream.  When the music 
ended, Sisko approached her and asked, "Your turn now?" 
and the Intendant, with a smile like a hungry horocat, 
pushed him aside and said, "No, she's mine first."  
Kira's stomach lurched sickeningly as she was pulled 
out onto the dance floor, just as Garak had said she 
would be.  

Her twin's arms went around her waist and her chin 
jabbed into her shoulder.  She was held firmly against 
the plush material of the Intendant's gown as they 
swayed together, she awkwardly and little behind the 
beat of the tambor-bells. Garak sat watching them from 
the bar, filling glass after glass of kanar--Kira hoped, 
the way he was drinking, that Sisko was right after all 
and he didn't have the nerve to go through with this.  

When the Intendant released her, the First Officer 
poured her a drink; she swallowed it down in one gulp, 
then nearly lost it again when the liquor hit her 
already churning stomach. 

"She didn't-" she tried to tell him.

"She will," Garak answered.  "Wait." 

The Intendant went among her guests like a queen on her
progress, extending her hand to the bowing supplicants, 
granting favors and rewards. She was generous tonight--
unusually so, Kira gathered from the surprised responses
of the guests.  She was bright, laughing, and cheerful, 
and she wanted everyone to share in her happiness.  

*She is in love,* the Major thought.  *I'm her mirror.  
Another self. I've attracted her in way no one else 
could--and I can betray her as no one else can.*  

It was nothing she hadn't done before, she told herself. 
Lure oppressors to their deaths.  She must have killed 
a dozen Cardassians using a similar trick--and, in this 
universe, Kira Nerys was no better than any Cardassian 
Gul.  Butcher.  Sadistic overlord.  As much a monster 
as Dukat.  This woman deserved to die.  

But that didn't quell the nauseous feeling inside her.

The music changed, becoming slow and sensual. Another 
dance. When the Intendant pulled her close this time, 
she whispered in her ear, "Let's get out of here, find 
someplace a little more private."  

Just as Garak had said. Over her counterpart's shoulder, 
Kira could see the First Officer across the room. Their
eyes met; he nodded. It was time.

Without waiting for an answer, the Intendant yanked her 
out onto the Promenade.

"Nerys, listen-" she said as soon as they were out of 
Garak's sight.  "It's important."

They went into what was the assay office on DS9--here, 
a tea and spices shop.  Just inside the door, the 
Intendant turned and took her by the wrist; Kira shook 
the light grip off.

"Nerys-"

A fiercer grip clamped down on her upper arm.

"Enough teasing," the other hissed.  "Don't you think 
_I_ know?"  The hold on her arm relaxed, and the 
Intendant's voice became a beguiling purr. "You're just 
like me.  Exactly like me.  We are the same, Nerys!" 
Fingers crept lightly up to her shoulder.  "The same
thoughts.  The same..."  She played with the shoulder 
straps.  "Needs.  I _know_ you.  Things no one else 
could ever know.  And you know me."

There was a wild hunger in those eyes.  Not for sex--
Kira realized that now. The need was deeper than that. 
Somewhere in her, even wrapped in her ego and power-mad 
delusions, this woman knew how she was despised. At the 
center of it all, she was desperately lonely and she
sought an emotional connection that no sycophantic 
relationship could replace.  Kira understood that that 
was what made _her_ so attractive to her counterpart: 
If another self couldn't love her, who else would?  

Kira almost felt sorry for her.  

The Intendant slipped her fingers beneath one strap to 
draw her close for a kiss.  Kira braced herself for a 
weird experience, when the door hissed open and Garak 
came in.  

The Intendant whirled on him.  "What do _you_ want?"

He didn't answer, merely pulled out a small dagger 
concealed beneath his uniform breastplate, and stabbed 
her.  She made a small, choked sound of surprise and 
twisted away from the blade.  She took one step back 
toward Kira, eyes on her reproachfully.

"I trusted you..." and she fell at the Major's feet.

It was nothing she hadn't done before. Sometimes, she 
had even been the one to slip the blade in.  But to see 
her twin--herself, as she might have been--dead on the 
floor was stunning.  Kira felt as if she were a kid 
again, participating in her first killing.  For a long 
moment, she stood frozen, staring down at the body and 
the dark pool of blood that slowly spread out from 
beneath it.

"It's done," said Garak, more to himself than to her. 
"We can't turn back."  He picked up the glittering head-
band that had fallen away from the body, and handed it 
to her.  "Intendant, I suggest you return to the party 
before your absence is noticed."

Kira placed the headband on her own head. "What about 
_her_?" she asked.

"I'll take care of it." Now that the act was irrevocable, 
he became more confident.  "In just a few minutes, there 
will be no sign of what happened here except for a stain 
on the carpet.  There are plenty of those around the 
station. One more won't matter."  He tossed the dagger 
on top of the body. "Go."

/~*~/
 
She returned to the party.  Sisko had retreated to a 
table in a corner with his crew, but when he saw her, 
he rose and came forward.

"Where did your friend go?" he asked.

Garak had followed behind her; Kira wondered how he had 
gotten rid of the Intendant's body so quickly.  As he 
took his seat at the bar and waved for another bottle 
of kanar, his eyes remained intently on her.  Like it 
or not, there was no turning back now.  She had assumed 
this role, and had to see it through.

She imitated the Intendant's swagger. "I sent her away. 
She was beginning to bore me."

Sisko nodded.

"But let's not talk about _her_.  It's a party!" She 
pulled him onto the dance floor.  "We should be having 
fun!"

/~*~/

If the first half of the evening had been nightmarish,
the rest was like a fever-dream. She moved in a haze, 
as if she were not acting of her own volition--as if 
the recently departed Intendant had possessed her. The 
words that came out of her mouth, the movements of her 
body, even her smile--it was all her twin's. It seemed
incredible to her that no one questioned her. Could none
of them see the difference?  And what would happen to 
her if they did?

When a squabble broke out between the Klingons and one 
of Sisko's crew, it was too much.  Her overwrought 
nerves finally snapped.  She spun on them, shouting.  
For once, it was _her_, no imitation of the Intendant, 
but it had the same effect.  The Klingons cowered.  
The room fell into a terrified silence.  Garak beamed 
approvingly.

At last, the party was over. Garak escorted her to the 
Intendant's quarters.  

"You were very good tonight, my dear.  It was a most 
impressive performance. Continue, and in 52 hours, you 
will announce your retreat and be free to go."

Kira let out a burst of breath.  "I don't think I can 
hold up that long."

The First Officer smiled unpleasantly.  "You will have 
to."  They arrived at her door.  "Good night, Intendant. 
Sleep well."

/~iii~/

Using a series of solicitous 'requests,' the valet had 
urged Bashir out of his uniform and into a shower, then
provided him with a short, grey robe and served him 
dinner.  The doctor was ravenous--this was the first 
food he had had since his arrival in this universe--but 
with the servant's constant proximity reminding him of 
his hostage status, he was too nervous to enjoy it, any 
more than he'd been able to enjoy the shower.  

He had finished his meal and was sitting, fidgeting, 
under the valet's watchful gaze when Garak returned.

"How is our guest, Revar?"

"He's been well-behaved, Subintendant."

The First Officer's eyes swept over him.  "He's cleaned 
up rather nicely."

After the valet had unfastened his master's armor and 
helped him out of it, he was dismissed--"You may go, 
Revar.  I won't require you again tonight."--and then 
they were alone. 

"Has Major Kira been cooperative?" Bashir asked.  

He expected to be slapped again for his impertinence, 
but Garak answered with a smile, "Delightfully so," 
and advanced toward him.  "Now, it is your turn to 
cooperate."

Bashir was on his feet.  "I don't know what you mean."
But he felt a sickened pang of dismay.  He did know.

The smile grew wider.  "I've been thinking about you all 
during the Intendant's dreary celebration," Garak told 
him. "If...career interests had not kept me occupied, I 
would much rather have spent the evening here, getting 
better acquainted with you." As he stepped forward, 
Julian stepped back, around the edge of the chair where 
he had been sitting.  "Things have gone so well tonight, 
I think I deserve a celebration of my own."

Julian had seen his Garak very drunk once; he recalled 
how deliberate the tailor's every movement had been, how 
carefully he had spoken to keep from slurring his words
--and yet hadn't been able to restrain that sibilant S.  
This Garak was the same.  It was obvious the man had 
been drinking as heavily and, feeling bored and amorous, 
he was now looking for some amusement at his prisoner's 
expense.

"You're an attractive boy. You must have been told that 
before."  He was apparently amused by Bashir's frantic 
efforts to keep the chair as a barrier between them. 
 
"Yes, I have, actually."  

"While I was sitting in Quark's Place, I entertained 
myself with thoughts of the new Terran I had waiting in 
my quarters.  I thought of how charming you would look 
once Revar had an opportunity to make you presentable."  
They had fully circled the chair. "I imagined every 
delightful thing I was going to do with you." 

"That's very flattering," Julian answered, preparing to 
dart behind the more secure barricade of the sofa.  He 
was playing a losing game, and he knew it.  "But I'm 
afraid I'm really not interested."  

"But _I_ am."  When Bashir darted, Garak made an abrupt 
feint and caught him by the forearm.  

Julian struggled.  "I said _No_!"

And Garak struck him so hard that his left ear rang 
and his vision was momentarily obscured by a shower of 
sparks.  His knees went weak, but the firm grip on his 
arm kept him from falling. He was yanked back toward 
Garak.  The Cardassian's other hand clamped over his 
nose and mouth.  Disturbingly familiar blue eyes blazed 
into his.

"I don't mind playing games, but understand this, Terran:
I can do whatever I want with you. If you resist, I 
promise I will make you sorry for it.  If you comply, 
then the time you spend in my custody will be a pleasant 
diversion for both of us. It doesn't matter to me which 
choice you make, although I assume it will make a great 
deal of difference to you." He relaxed his grip enough 
to allow Bashir to breathe.  His fingertips slid over 
the young man's cheek, then trailed down his throat.  
"Which will it be?"  
 
It was rape either way. 

When Garak slipped one hand to the back of his head, he 
shut his eyes tightly. His heart hammered like a trapped 
animal's as his captor devoured him with a kiss. As much 
as he wanted to fight, his first priority was to stay 
alive until Kira did whatever she had been asked to do. 
She was as much a hostage dependant on his cooperation 
as he was to hers. 

It wasn't until he felt the back of his robe being 
bunched up at his waist and one hand slid down his 
bare buttock, fingers tracing the cleft in preparation 
to explore more deeply, that he rebelled.

"Don't!" He jolted free and scrambled backwards until he 
ran into the sofa.  "Don't do that to me!"  He climbed 
back over the cushions, beginning to babble in his rising 
panic; the Cardassian regarded him with an amazed, but 
strangely pleased, expression.  "Garak, please-"

He was unprepared when Garak seized the front of his robe 
to jerk him up, then slammed him down.  A shock of pain 
ran through him as his spine jarred and the back of his 
head struck the floor.  A second slam knocked the breath 
out of him, leaving him sick and dazed.

He lay sprawled on the carpet, staring up at the closed 
fist suspended directly over his face.

"Is this what you really want, Terran?"

"N-no."

Not satisfied with this answer, Garak unclenched his 
fist to run one finger over the bridge of Bashir's nose, 
across his lips, and down his throat. Then he tugged at 
the sash of his prisoner's robe and pulled it aside, 
leaving the front of his body fully exposed.  A hand 
rested on the slender chest, still rising and falling 
rapidly with panted breaths; his eyes remained intently 
on Bashir's face as he flicked his thumb over one nipple 
to make it rise, then pinched hard enough to force out 
a surprised gasp.

When a second and third equally hard tweaks failed to 
provoke a protest, he moved back to hook both hands 
under the young man's knees to lift and spread his legs 
wide.

Julian groaned, "Oh, god, Garak, no..."

"Quiet."

The rough exploration continued--pinching, probing,
more humiliating than painful--and Garak observed him 
closely, waiting for a response.  Bashir squirmed, 
even whimpered when he couldn't help it, but he did 
not cry out.  He had struggled once, but he refused 
to give his tormentor any further excuse to brutalize 
him.  This man could easily tear him to pieces if he 
gave him a reason to.

He realized that Garak had wanted him to resist; the 
Cardassian wouldn't have been happy if he hadn't been 
given this chance to subdue his captive and demonstrate 
his dominance so pointedly.

Bashir shut his eyes, not merely to try to close out 
what was happening to him, but also the face of the 
man who was doing it. The worst of this was that he 
was being molested by someone who looked like a friend.

"I never cease to be astonished at the sensitivity of 
Terran flesh," Garak said as he probed deeper, and 
found a spot that sent a convulsive shudder through his 
prisoner's body. "Incredible creatures.  I can't tell 
if you're in agony, or if you're about to melt in my 
hands.  You understand now, don't you, Bashir, that I 
can have you any way I like?"

"I understand," Julian answered through clenched teeth.

"You won't be any further trouble?"

"I won't fight you."

The fingers withdrew.  "Then I suggest we continue this 
in the bedroom.  Revar hates it when I leave a mess out 
here."  He scooped up the unresisting human, and carried 
him in. 

/~*~/

Kira paced restlessly in the Intendant's suite. She had 
not changed out of her party dress; her uniform was in 
her old room, and the Intendant's skin-tight leather 
bodysuit looked too uncomfortable and restrictive.  Her 
attendants had left a flimsy negligee lying out for her 
before she'd sent them away, but she had no plans to 
sleep tonight.

She knew that even if she made it successfully through 
the next two days of this impersonation, Garak would not 
allow her to leave.  He had already murdered one Kira 
Nerys. Once she'd served her purpose, why wouldn't he 
get rid of her as swiftly as he had dispatched her 
counterpart? And she only had Garak's word for it that 
Dr. Bashir was still alive.  For all she knew, he had 
killed his prisoner hours ago, and was lying to her to 
ensure her compliance

She had to get out of here.  

No guards had been placed outside her door. Garak might 
be monitoring her, or he might be only relying on her 
vulnerable position as impostor and co-conspirator in 
the Intendant's murder to keep her here.  And, anyway, 
as long there was a possibility that Bashir was alive, 
she couldn't abandon him.

Again and again, her thoughts returned to Sisko's ship 
and crew.  He _was_ nothing like her Commander Sisko, 
this former slave with his stony indifference to any-
thing but his own self-interests.  There was no reason 
why he should help her get off the station, but he was 
the only person she could turn to.

She went to the comm-panel to contact the Intendant's 
aide.  "Have Benjamin sent to my quarters."

Sisko appeared at her door soon after, wary and sullen.  
"You wanted me, Intendant?" he asked.  For all his 
posturing, he was afraid of her; Kira could see that. 
And she could use it.

"That's right, Benjamin. You and I are going to take a 
trip," she announced in the Intendant's purring voice.

He looked surprised.  "Where to?"

"I can't tell you, not until we're on our way.  I want 
you to take me, and one of my attendants.  We'll leave 
tonight."

Sisko still looked puzzled, but he nodded.  "My crew is 
already on the ship, Intendant.  I'll have them prepared 
to depart as soon as you say."  

If she were only concerned with her own escape, then 
Kira would consider her goal accomplished. But this had 
been the easy part; her next gambit was going to be more 
difficult.

"I have one more errand for you, Benjamin, before we go. 
My attendant...Garak has him."

"Garak has him?"

"You know how Garak can be--petty, spiteful. We've had a 
difference of opinion, and he's retaliated by taking...
something very special to me." She slid into the nearest
chair, pouting, and hoped she sounded like a spoiled 
child who had been deprived of a favorite toy.  "And I 
want it back."

"What's so important about this 'attendant' of yours?" 
asked Sisko.

"Jealous, Benjamin?"

"Just wondering."  He was staring at her with an openly 
perplexed expression.

"I don't have to explain this to you," Kira retorted. 

But that was her mistake: She had already explained too 
much.  The true Intendant would simply have given an 
order and expected it to be obeyed, and would have 
threatened Sisko with an immediate return to the mines 
for daring to question her.

Suddenly, Sisko burst into a smile that was very like 
her own commander's.  "You're not her!" he crowed. 
"You're that other one.  The other Nerys."

Caught, but hoping to salvage the situation, she 
admitted the truth.  "Yes, I am." 

"I thought you were dead."  The grin dropped and he 
asked, "Is _she_ dead?"

Kira nodded.

"So Garak did it after all?" Sisko chuckled. "Damn! I 
didn't think he had the guts!"

"He's more dangerous than you think," Kira replied. 
"He's got all the power he wants now, with nothing to 
hold him back. My life is in danger if I don't get off 
this station, and so is Dr. Bashir's--the human officer 
I came here with.  We have to get away.  Benjamin, I 
need your help."

Sisko shook his head.  "I told you before--I'm no hero.  
I got where I am today by looking out for myself.  Why 
should I risk it for you?"

In frustration, she burst out: "I _know_ you have it in 
you to be a decent and honorable man. What do I have to 
do to make you see that there's more at stake here than 
you?  Haven't you _once_ in your life put someone else 
before yourself?  Ever?  When you won your way out of 
the mines, did you ever look back at the people you left 
behind? Did you think about helping them?  What about 
your family?"

"I don't have a family," Sisko answered. "They all died 
a long time ago. I never looked back."  He slumped into 
a chair, frowning thoughtfully.  "All right," he said 
after a moment, "but if I help you, there has to be 
something in it for me."

"What do you want?" Kira asked cautiously.

He leaned forward, his face near hers.  "You said there 
was another Benjamin Sisko on other side.  Someone you 
know?"

"Er- yes."

For the first time, she saw something beneath the 
selfishness. Intense curiosity.  "Tell me about _him_."
 
/~*~/

Bashir lay curled on the First Officer's bed and listened
to the sound of the Cardassian breathing beside him. When 
he thought that Garak had finally fallen asleep, he sat 
up and, with surreptitious glances at his captor, reached 
for his robe at the foot of the bed. 

As he got up, he was startled by a voice behind him: 
"Where do you think you're going?" 

"I'd like to wash up," he answered. "Do you mind?"

Garak chuckled, amused that he could still put up a show 
of defiance.  "You have my permission," he replied and 
rolled to his side, turning his back to the young man.

"Thank you," Julian said tightly.

In the bathroom, he turned on the water. He would have 
liked to get into the shower; he _felt_ more dirty now 
than he had when he'd been brought up from the ore-
processing center.  He wanted a scalding hot spray to 
blast away this unclean feeling. He wanted to scrub off 
the outer layer of his skin and wash away the memories 
of the way this man, who looked and sounded so like his 
friend, had touched him. 

A quick glance in the mirror: His face looked a little 
swollen from being slapped so repeatedly.  He had a few
bruises, some bite marks on his throat and shoulders, 
and it felt as if every centimeter of his body ached but,
all things considered, his condition was not too bad.  
Garak had been too drunk to fulfill every promise of 
what he'd intended to do to his prisoner, and for that 
Julian was grateful.  As horrible as this experience 
had been, he knew it could have been much worse.

When Subintendant Garak woke in the morning, he would 
be sober and eager to pick up where he had left off, 
but Bashir did not intend to be here.  

He had submitted as long as he'd had no choice, but he 
couldn't endure this for an indefinite period.  The 
Klingon guards were still stationed at the door, but 
Bashir had another route for escape.  If he could find 
Major Kira, they could get the hell out of here.

He'd noticed the vent in the ceiling when he'd been in 
the washroom earlier, but the valet had been guarding 
him too closely to give him an opportunity to use it.

His torn uniform had been left on the floor, but the 
valet must have thrown it away, for it was not in the 
bathroom now. He would have to crawl about in his robe.

As quietly as he could, Julian climbed onto the toilet 
seat and up onto the sink counter.  A careful push to 
lift the vent panel directly overhead, and then he 
pulled himself up into the narrow duct.  

/~iv~/

In telling this Sisko about her commander, Kira found 
that she was examining her own feelings for him for the 
first time. It surprised her to realize how far she had 
come in the last two years.

Like many Bajorans, she'd had her doubts when Kai Opaka 
had named this Starfleet officer as Emissary.  She'd 
resented the Federation's involvement in Bajor's affairs,
and _this_ had seemed like the ultimate intrusion: not 
satisfied with meddling in Bajor's political situation, 
the Federation had to interfere in their spiritual life 
as well. Only her deep respect for Opaka had kept her 
from speaking out.

Then, as she worked with Commander Sisko, gotten to know 
him better and to see the kind of man he was, she'd begun 
to regard him in a new light.  More than gaining respect
for him as her commanding officer, she was beginning to 
wonder...

"So, you think your Benjamin Sisko really is this great
leader your people have been waiting for?" the other 
Sisko asked.

"I don't know," Kira admitted.  "Sometimes, I believe 
it's true.  He's been touched by the Prophets--I'm sure 
of that much."

"And what about me?  Bajor has its Prophets here too, 
and they haven't touched _me_."

The wormhole had not been discovered in this universe, 
but she would take Sisko and his ship through it tonight. 
If the Prophets noticed him, would they see him as the 
same man as her Benjamin Sisko, or as a different man 
with a different destiny?  

"Maybe they haven't seen a reason to call upon you yet," 
she answered.  "The Bajorans aren't oppressed here--
they're the oppressors.  Maybe the ones you're meant 
to free are your own people."

"Me? Free the Terrans?" Sisko laughed. "I'll believe 
_that_ when your Prophets tell me to my face."  He was 
skeptical, but the idea appealed to him; Kira could see 
that he was thinking about it.

/~*~/

The duct led to an access conduit, wider and easier for 
him to scramble through.  Bashir crawled on until he 
reached the end of the conduit, and stopped just inside 
the hatch when he heard someone in the juncture beyond.  
He peeked through the ventilation grill, and relaxed 
when he saw it was O'Brien at work on a plasma-flow 
control panel.

Julian opened the hatch and climbed out. O'Brien turned,
startled, and arced one eyebrow at the sight of him, as 
if to ask 'Now what have _you_ been up to?'

"I'm sorry," Bashir said, "but I seem to have lost my 
way. I don't suppose you could point me toward Landing 
Pad 3?"  That was where they had left the runabout; he 
thought he had the best chance of contacting Kira from 
there.

"Go down that way, to the corridor, and to your left 
across the bridge," O'Brien answered.  "But you didn't 
hear me say that. I never saw you." He turned back to 
his work.

"I could use your help," Bashir went on. "No one knows
more about this station than you do--I'll bet that's 
just as true in this universe as it is in my own.  You 
can override the locks on the landing bay doors-"

"No!"

"-reconfigure the transporter on the runabout-"

"I _said_ no!"

"Miles-"

O'Brien whirled.  "You've no right to call me that!" he 
shot back at Bashir resentfully.  "I'm not your friend.  
You're nobody to me!"  

Julian sat down in the open end of the conduit, rebuffed.  
No, this was not Chief O'Brien; it was wrong to think 
that he was, to try to appeal to a friendship that did 
not exist.

"If they catch me, they'll kill me," he said.

"That's not my problem."

"But wouldn't you feel bad about it? My Miles O'Brien 
is a gentle, soft-hearted man--he pretends to be as 
gruff and thick-hided as a Tabalrian rhinoceros, but 
_I_ know better.  I know how it would tear him up to 
see someone, even a complete stranger, die when he had 
it in his power to save them."

O'Brien threw down his coil spanner and huffed in 
exasperation, exactly the way the Chief did. "I'll do 
it," he said, "on one condition.  If you'll take me 
along."

"Along?" Bashir echoed.  "You mean to my universe?"  

"What's to keep me here?"

Julian considered it.  He could imagine the commotion 
it would cause if he brought another Miles O'Brien back 
from an alternate universe; even the Bureau of Temporal 
Investigations would be unprepared to handle _that_. But 
he couldn't leave O'Brien to face punishment for saving 
him. "Yes, all right. You can come with me."

/~*~/

"First Officer Garak to Intendant Kira."

Kira, forming her escape plans with Sisko, sat up. "Yes, 
what is it?"

"I thought you should know--your Terran friend has 
escaped."  And the communication terminated abruptly.

She turned to Sisko.  "We have to find him before Garak 
does."

/~*~/

They got as far as the other side of the bridge.  As 
they rounded the corner into the main corridor of the 
docking ring, Bashir and O'Brien ran into a pair of 
Klingon guards and were immediately captured.

One of the guards slapped his communicator. "Sub-
intendant, we have found the Terran, and another one 
with him.  On Level 14, Section 37."

Garak arrived a minute later, wearing his uniform except 
for the breastplate and carrying a disruptor tucked into 
the waistband.  He took in the two prisoners, his gaze 
lingering on Bashir, but he spoke to O'Brien first.
  
"The Intendant will be very disappointed, O'Brien. She 
has always considered you one of our most trustworthy 
Terran workers.  And now you've thrown that all away to 
aid _this_-"  He swept Bashir with another icily furious, 
contemptuous glare- "This lying little whore.  What has 
it gotten you?  Only your death. I will have to make an 
example of you."  Then he spoke to Bashir: "As for _you_,
I can't kill you yet, but I can make you wish I had."

Garak turned to the Klingons.  "Return that one to my 
quarters, and take Theta O'Brien to the holding cells in
Security.  He is to be executed on the Promenade at the 
beginning of the Terrans' next shift, when they all can 
see him die, and learn from it."

The guards stepped forward to seize the prisoners, when 
a disruptor beam shot out from behind Garak, vaporizing 
one Klingon, then the other.  Before the Cardassian 
could turn, the disruptor was pressed to the nape of 
his neck, and Sisko said, "You aren't going to do any-
thing to them."

Eye-ridges wide, Garak raised his hands.  "A rescue 
party?  Mr. Sisko, I never suspected you had such 
foolhardy gallantry in you." 

"Neither did I.  It's been a weird night."

"Look, Garak," Kira said as she circled him and took 
his disruptor, "you can have the station.  Just give 
me the doctor and let us go." She glanced at Bashir; a 
suspicion flickered in her mind.  "Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine once we're away from here."

Kira and Sisko covering the new Cardassian Intendant of
Terek Nor, they made their retreat. 

"We can't use the transporters," the Major told Bashir 
as they fled.  "We'll have to take the runabout and go 
back the way we came, and hope for the best."  Then she 
said to Sisko, "Garak won't sit still.  He'll send 
someone after us." 

"I'll distract them," Sisko answered confidently. "Don't 
worry--my crew can always lose the Alliance ships in the 
Sea of Wraiths."

"Sea of Wraiths?" echoed Bashir.

"It's an old Bajoran name for the Badlands," Kira 
explained.  They were at the door to the landing pad.  
"You could follow us, come back with us to our universe,"
she offered Sisko.

He chuckled.  "I have the feeling I wouldn't fit in very 
well over there--and I've got some business to take care 
of here."

"What about you, Miles?" Bashir asked as O'Brien breached 
the security lock on the door.  

"Smiley, why don't you come with me?" said Sisko. "I can 
use a good mechanic on my crew."  

"Yeah, all right," O'Brien agreed.  "It'll be good to 
work against the Alliance for a change."

Sisko grinned at Kira.  "My first act for my people."  
The two humans ran on down the corridor toward Sisko's 
ship.

"I think we just started a revolution," Bashir mused, 
and he and Kira climbed into the runabout.

/~*~/

In the runabout, Bashir retreated into himself. Adrenalin 
had kept him going up to this point, but now that they 
were away from Terek Nor and out of immediate danger, 
Kira could see that he was badly shaken.

"Major?" he ventured as they raced through the wormhole.
"Please, don't tell anyone what happened."

This request reinforced Kira's worst suspicions about 
exactly what had happened to Bashir.  She'd always wanted 
to see the arrogant young Federation doctor get some kind 
of comeuppance, but _this_ was more than he deserved.

"I won't say a word," she promised.  She had done some 
things tonight that she would prefer to forget as well.

The wormhole spun open and DS9 lay before them.  As Kira 
punched in the course corrections to send them toward the 
station, the doctor asked, "Do you think that was what 
Garak was like during the Occupation?"

Yes, Kira thought so, but she did not say it.  Bashir 
had been through enough already.  Thankfully, they were 
hailed before she could compose an evasive reply. 

Commander Sisko appeared on the monitor above her head. 
Kira could imagine how they must look to him--she in her 
purple party-dress, Bashir in his bathrobe--but he did 
not comment on their odd appearance.

"Where the hell have the two of you been?"

"Through the looking-glass, Commander," she replied. 
"It's good to be home."

/~*~/

Bashir returned to duty the next morning.  He'd been 
unable to rest the night before until he'd eliminated 
all physical reminders of what had been done to him.  
He'd disposed of the robe, then got into the shower to 
scrub himself down.  Rather than go to the Infirmary, 
he'd tended to his injuries in the privacy of his 
quarters, and filed an incomplete medical report. He'd 
given himself a mild sedative, but still tossed rest-
lessly throughout the night.  His memories were not so 
easily erased.

As he stepped off the lift on the Promenade, his heart 
shrank at the sight of Garak, on his way into Quark's 
for breakfast.  This was a moment he'd been dreading. 

The tailor gave him a smile and waved to beckon him over.
Julian pretended he didn't notice, and hurried into the
Infirmary.

/~*~//~*~//~*~/

Interlude

/~*~/

Bashir was having dinner late one evening alone in the 
Replimat, when Garak came up to his table and sat down 
uninvited.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you, Doctor? You've 
missed so many of our lunch dates recently--this will 
give us an opportunity to catch up."

Julian, startled, intimidated, and a little guilty at 
the way he'd been avoiding his friend for weeks, did not 
object.  But he was miserable all during the meal, and 
picked at the food on his plate while Garak dominated 
the conversation. He could listen to the tailor, but he 
couldn't meet his eyes.

After repeated attempts to coax Bashir out of his 
unresponsiveness, Garak deliberately set down his fork 
and announced:  "Doctor, we must talk, privately. Will 
you please come with me to my quarters?"

"No!" Julian cried.  Garak's quarters here were not the 
same as First Officer Garak's suite on Terek Nor, but 
the association was too close.  At the tailor's look of 
surprise, he added, "My quarters."

He thought that he would feel more safe on his own 
territory but, a few minutes later, he sat just as 
nervously in his own living room while Garak ordered 
two cups of red-leaf tea from the replicator.  His 
voice quavered as he asked, "Wh- what did you want to 
talk about?"

"You," Garak replied, and got right to the point. "What's
wrong, Doctor?  You seem to be extremely uncomfortable 
in my presence lately.  Have I said something to offend 
you?"

Bashir sighed.  "It's not you, Garak."  

How could he explain? Since he had returned from the 
mirror universe, it was difficult for him to look his 
friend in the face without being reminded of...that 
other.  He tried to tell himself that _his_ Garak had 
nothing to do with it; his Garak would never do such a 
horrible thing to him, but he also thought of what Kira 
had said in the runabout, and he tormented himself by 
wondering...

When Garak handed him one of the teacups, he said, "Can 
I ask you a personal question? You've never told me much 
about your past- No, I don't want any details if you 
don't want to give them to me. But you were here during 
the Occupation, weren't you?"

"Yes," the tailor answered reluctantly, as if he were 
giving away too much by admitting to it.  "What is it 
you want to know?"

"Just one thing: Have you ever raped anyone?"

Whatever questions Garak had been anticipating, this was
not among them.  "No, never," he answered.

"Not once?" Bashir persisted.  "Not one Bajoran _ever_? 
You've never once put your hand over someone's mouth, 
and told him if he didn't cooperate you could make him 
very sorry?"

Garak seemed more bewildered than indignant at this oddly
specific accusation. "Doctor, I assure you-" he stopped 
and stared at Bashir; bewilderment faded, to be replaced 
by-  He turned away quickly to return his tea to the 
replicator and order something stronger, but not before 
Julian caught his unguarded look of shock and anger.
 
The tailor swallowed his kanar at once and, when he 
turned back, his face was clear of all expression. He 
spoke carefully.  "I think the correct question, my 
dear Doctor, is not 'Have I ever done this?' but 'Who 
has done this to _you_?'"

Bashir lowered his eyes and refused to answer. He was 
aware that Garak was still watching him.

Garak went on: "I've been intrigued by that adventure 
you had a few weeks ago, when you and Major Kira 
inadvertently crossed over into an alternate universe.
I have no access to the full reports, of course, but 
I've overheard a few interesting conversations.  I've 
heard that, in that other reality, my counterpart was 
first officer of Terek Nor."

That Cardassian mind would have unraveled the mystery 
eventually, even without the clues that had just been 
thrown to him.  Julian sat very still and held his 
breath. With the sound of his heart pounding hard in 
his ears, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the carpet 
until Garak's feet stepped into his line of vision, 
directly before him.

"Julian, look at me."

Reluctantly, the young man raised his eyes. 

"Garak, I'm sorry," he blurted. "It's not your fault--
it's mine-"

"No," the tailor said softly, urgently, as he crouched 
down before Julian's chair. "You mustn't blame yourself. 
You've suffered an appalling outrage, and it's only 
natural you should feel...vulnerable. Have you talked 
with anyone else about this? Confided in Commander Sisko, 
or perhaps Lt. Dax?"

"No, no one," Bashir shook his head. "I didn't want any-
one to know.  I've tried to forget all about it, but I 
can't stop thinking of that other universe, that other 
Garak. I know I'm not being fair to you, but I can't help
it.  I'm afraid."  

"You're not responsible," Garak insisted.  "_He_ is." 
There was a second flash of anger.  "If it were in my
power, every part of that man's body that has touched you 
would be flayed into small pieces to repay him for what 
he's done."  

Bashir stared at him, startled and a little disturbed 
by the fierce emotions he was seeing.  This was more 
than a friend's concern for his welfare.

"You'd do that?" he asked.

"To the one who's hurt you, yes.  Gladly." 

"But he's _you_."

"He is _not_ me," Garak responded vehemently.  "We may 
have the same face and voice and even the same genetic 
structure, but there the resemblance ends. He is nothing 
like me, where you are concerned. Do you really believe 
I'm capable of doing such a thing to you?"
   
"I don't want to believe it," Bashir admitted.  "You 
attacked me once before." 

"I was deranged that evening. With my implant shut off, 
I said and did many things I would not have if I'd been 
myself.  I regret that you were there to bear the brunt 
of that madness."

"You said you hated me."

"Surely you know I didn't mean that."  

"Yes, I know."

He hadn't realized until now how much Garak did care for 
him. At one time, he would have been pleased to discover 
how his friend really felt; now, all he could think was 
that his Garak must look at him the way that other one 
did.  He wouldn't rape him, but he wanted him that same 
way. Thought about touching him. Imagined having him in 
bed. Was some part of Garak's rage actually jealousy--
that another Garak had dared to do what he had not?

"I swear I will not harm you, my Julian," Garak told him 
in that same soft, reassuring tone. "You have nothing to 
fear from me."

He drew a little closer--To comfort? To kiss?--and Bashir 
recoiled, sending the barely touched cup of tea all over
himself.

Garak moved back quickly; for an instant, he looked hurt 
and embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry," Julian murmured wretchedly.  

That expressionless mask was back again.  "My apologies, 
Doctor. I didn't mean to alarm you," the tailor spoke 
formally as he rose from his knees.  "I'll leave you now.
You'll want to get out of those wet clothes as soon as 
possible."

As he went out the door, Julian almost called him back, 
but he was afraid that, if he did, Garak would mistake 
it for an invitation.  He wasn't ready for that. 

/~*~//~*~//~*~/

A Revolution in Looking-Glass Land

/~i~/

It was unusual to see O'Brien up in Ops in civilian 
clothes.  The only other time had been just before his 
last, ill-fated vacation, and so Bashir had a certain 
sense of foreboding at the sight of his friend in a 
plain brown tunic and trousers, even before O'Brien 
pulled out a disruptor and waved it at the astonished 
crew.

"Get up on the transporter, please," he said, picking 
out Sisko and Kira with the disruptor's muzzle, "and you 
too, Bashir. Quickly now. Let's go."  As he herded them 
onto the platform, O'Brien stopped at the transporter 
console to wave a small, circular device over the control
panel and set the coordinates.

"What is this?" Sisko demanded.

But Bashir already understood. "You're not our O'Brien, 
are you?" 

"I'll explain everything once we cross over," the 
imposter told them. "Assuming we get there in one piece."
He engaged the transporter and leapt up to join them.  
They beamed away--

and materialized on another transporter platform at the 
back of the bridge of a small ship.  

"We made it." O'Brien looked relieved as he holstered the 
weapon. "And you can't get back until I send you."

They stepped down from the transporter onto the small, 
triangular upper section of the bridge, two steps above 
the main, half-circle-shaped cockpit.  From the view out 
the forward window, it looked as if they were near the 
edge of Denorios Belt, a position corresponding to the 
coordinates of DS9. A couple of other humans were seated 
at the helm and weapons consoles; Kira recognized them 
as members of the mirror-Sisko's pirate crew.  

"You're Smiley," she said.

"No one called me that except Ben Sisko--_my_  Ben 
Sisko."  O'Brien glanced at the glowering commander.  

"We're back in your universe," Bashir murmured, and felt 
a small shiver creep down his spine.  

"You kidnaped us-" Sisko thundered.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but I had no other choice.  
We need your help.  You see, my Ben Sisko is dead."

Kira thought of that sulky, self-interested man who had 
just begun to be something more, and she felt a genuine
pang of sadness.  "What happened to him?"

"Well, he'd got it into his head that he was some kind 
of holy man," O'Brien explained as he stepped down onto 
the main bridge.  "He said that Bajor's Prophets had 
picked him out special to free the Terran slaves."

Sisko gave Kira a meaningful glance.  She looked away. 

"A lot of us who'd known him awhile didn't believe it 
for a second, but the other Terrans did.  He gave `em 
something to rally `round.  It's easier to fight for a 
cause when you believe some god or another is smiling 
down on you.  

"The trouble was, Ben believed it too.  He was sure he 
had his destiny all laid out by the Prophets, and nothing
could touch 'im.  He started taking foolish risks.  The 
Terran rebels loved `im for it.  They wanted a hero, you 
see. And it was fine for us as long as his luck held out, 
but that wasn't going to last forever. One stupid bloody 
mistake..." he shook his head, grimacing. "He got himself 
killed, just when we needed him most."

"Are you Captain here now?" asked Bashir.

"No, not of this ship. Rob Whelan there-" with a nod at
the man at the helm, "Ben Sisko's first mate, is our 
pilot, but I've come up with the rebellion, you might 
say. Now that Sisko's gone, the others have been looking 
to me for what do to next.  I'm doing the best I can."

He was different from the 'Smiley' O'Brien they had met 
last year.  This man was much more grim and purposeful 
than that timid Theta mechanic.  He wasn't like their 
Chief O'Brien either, but their O'Brien had never had 
the responsibility of leading a revolution.  

"And what do you want with us?" asked Sisko.  

"Well, my idea was to get some replacements--bring Ben 
Sisko back from the dead and have Intendant Kira come 
out of the monastery where Garak tells everyone she's 
gone on retreat. And I needed _you_," he said to Bashir, 
"Garak's boy."

Even in his mortification, Bashir noted that Sisko was 
not as shocked by this information as he ought to be.  
"Why me?" he asked.

"You made a big impression on Intendant Garak when you 
were here before," O'Brien explained.  "After you'd gone, 
he hunted for your counterpart in the mines, and he found 
him. Jules Bashir is one of _ours_--I knew who Garak was 
looking for, and so I found Jules first and put him where 
he couldn't help but be discovered by Garak sooner or 
later. He's been our spy on Terek Nor for the last three 
months, but now it's time to get `m out of there."  He 
looked around to all three of them.  "I need your help 
for that."  

"I haven't said we'll do anything to help you yet," Sisko
reminded him.  "Maybe we can't get back to our universe 
until you send us, but we can just sit here and refuse to 
cooperate."

"You won't," O'Brien responded.  "This is too important, 
for your universe as well as mine. It's more than Bashir 
at stake.  There's a scientist, a Terran.  Her name is 
Jennifer Bateson, and the Alliance is holding her 
prisoner."

Sisko suddenly felt as if he'd been struck by lightning.  
Jennifer Bateson... "Have you got a picture of her?" he 
asked.

O'Brien moved to the nearest computer console and punched 
a few buttons to locate and bring up an Alliance 'Wanted 
for Treason' bulletin.  He tapped the screen with his 
fingers.  "That's her." 

As Sisko stared at the image, reality seemed to freeze 
around him.  His heart stopped beating.  He heard his own 
voice speaking as if he were somewhere far away: "That's 
my Jennifer. My wife."

/~*~/

"Not here she isn't," O'Brien replied.  "I never got the
whole story, but from the little bits Ben and Jennifer 
told me, I gather they had something going on between 'em 
years ago.  Jennifer Bateson was one of the privileged 
Terrans.  The vedeks brought her up, educated her.  I've 
no idea how Ben managed to meet someone like her--I mean, 
what does a woman like that want to do with a man fresh 
out of the mining camps?  Anyway, she was a teacher at 
the Technical University until Ben got in touch with her 
again and talked her over to our cause.  That put her 
right at the top of the Wanted Criminals list.  You can 
see why."

Kira nodded.  "A revolutionary with an education and 
technical skills is dangerous to the status quo.  She 
can accomplish a lot."

"More'n an ignorant bunch of escaped slaves," O'Brien 
agreed.  "The Alliance wanted her back bad."

"And they've captured her?" Sisko asked.

"Two days ago. According to Bashir, they're holding her 
on Terek Nor.  When he heard that, Ben went charging 
off all by himself to rescue her..." O'Brien shook his 
head again.  "They won't kill her--she's got too much 
information that they want."

"Such as?"

"For one thing, Jennifer Bateson was the one who modified 
the Klingon cloaking devices we got hold of--the one on 
this ship and the shields fixed up for our bases in the 
Sea of Wraiths. We've got a lot of people liberated from 
the mining camps and factories in hiding. Plus, we're 
putting together an army out there, training soldiers, 
collecting weapons and ships.  Jen knows where a lot of 
that is. Give `em enough time to interrogate her, and 
she'll talk.  She won't be able to help it.

"And if that's not enough for you, there's the trans-
porter. She helped me to configure this one here on the 
ship. It was our Sisko's idea that we could send a few 
refugees over, get them away to a safer place. Now, I 
know as much about transporters as any Terran, but _she_ 
knew what it was we were doing.  All that Bajoran meta-
physical theory about space 'n' time."

He turned to Kira and Bashir.  "The last time you two 
were here, you changed things. If it wasn't for you, I'd 
still be a Theta on Terek Nor, and Ben Sisko'd still be 
at Intendant Kira's beck-n-call. _You_ started this, and
Garak knows it.  The Terran revolution's been the vole
gnawing at his ankles since the day he took over.  How 
long d'you think he'd wait to meddle in _your_ universe 
if he had the chance?"

Sisko's whole demeanor changed as he listened to O'Brien
outline the situation.  The news about Jennifer Bateson 
had shaken him from his initial outrage at being kidnaped, 
and he grew more and more solemn at each new piece of 
information.  "So, what's the plan?" 

"I'd like your Kira to come with me to Terek Nor," 
O'Brien answered, "impersonate the old Intendant.  She 
can open up a few doors for us, maybe all the way to 
Jen's cell."

"I've done it before," Kira volunteered immediately. "I 
know my way around that station." 

Sisko did not override her. "And what about Bashir?" he 
asked O'Brien.

"I want my Bashir out of there, to take him with us when 
we go. Once the Alliance knows we know where Jennifer is, 
they'll figure out who gave us the information. It won't 
take long for Garak to work it out.  Now, we'll have 
a chance to get farther away from the station if Garak 
doesn't notice anything wrong right away.  Say, if his 
Terran boy isn't missing."

"It sounds as if you're putting _my_ Bashir in serious 
danger. This Intendant Garak could kill him if he learns 
who he is."

"All he has to do is sit still for a little while, play 
up to Garak 'n' keep him from getting suspicious. Then 
he can slip off. They'll be some distractions to help 
him--that's where your part comes in, Commander Sisko."

"And if he's captured?" 

"Then all he can tell `em is what I've told you just now.  
Between them, Jennifer and Jules can give away a whole 
lot more."  O'Brien threw an apologetic glance at Bashir, 
who had been listening with a growing horror.  "It's a 
matter of who's more important to the cause."
 
"But in this case, that's _my_ decision, not yours," 
the commander pointed out. "I don't happen to think Dr. 
Bashir is expendable."

O'Brien nodded and accepted this.  

"Now, what about this 'distraction' you want me to 
provide?" asked Sisko.

"I think you and I should talk this part over alone." He 
sent another glance in Bashir's direction.  

The doctor understood: O'Brien didn't want him to hear 
any more about the rebellion's plans.  "I'll get out of 
your way," he said, and headed for the nearest hatch.

Kira scowled.  "Was _that_ necessary?" she demanded after
Bashir had left the bridge.

"The less he knows, the better," O'Brien replied.  "It's
safest for all of us if we keep our information parceled
out--that way, no one can give away too much if they get 
caught and interrogated. Any good resistance fighter 
knows that."

Yes, Kira did know that.  "Maybe I should get out of the 
way too," she murmured. Instead of following Bashir, she 
went to sit down in the forward section of the bridge 
behind the two members of O'Brien's crew.

O'Brien took Sisko by the arm and led him through an 
ovoid doorway opposite the transporter controls, into 
an ante-chamber at the top of the shaft that led to the 
engine room on the deck below.

He spoke softly: "I've told you how people looked up to 
my Ben Sisko. He was the center of this rebellion.  The 
Alliance is already broadcasting the news about his death. 
It's a great piece of propaganda for them. When they hear 
about it back in the Sea of Wraiths, it'll demoralize a 
lot of our people."

The commander understood.  "But if Benjamin Sisko shows 
up alive and well..."

"Exactly. What you're going to do is go back to our base 
in the Sea and show yourself to as many of our people as 
possible, put a lie to the stories about Ben's death. 
They'll believe what they see with their own eyes before 
the things they hear on the Alliance news reports. You'll
make a speech to rile `em up, and lead the rebellion in 
its biggest strike so far."

"You want me to attack Terek Nor?"

O'Brien nodded.  "We're going to try and take it."

/~*~/

When Bashir left the bridge, he wandered along the main 
corridor until he found a sort of crew lounge at the 
back of the ship--a few low-slung chairs, some games, a 
replicator.  He sat down before the rear windows. 

The retreating asteroids told him that they were headed 
away from the Denorios Belt and were on a course for 
Bajor.  For Terek Nor.  The place where his nightmares 
had begun.

He knew that Sisko had not committed himself to this 
mission yet; it was the commander's way to hear an entire 
proposal, measure his options, and then make a decision. 
And Sisko had sounded extremely reluctant to place him in
danger, but Bashir could not forget that thunderstruck 
look on Sisko's face when he'd learned that the counter-
part of his late wife was here. _That_ was a powerful 
incentive--how powerful, Bashir could not imagine, since 
he had never lost someone he loved that much.  

At the pit of his stomach, he was already certain that
Sisko would agree to go along with O'Brien's plan.

These past months, he and Garak had been tentatively 
trying to reform their friendship on new terms.  They 
never spoke of what had happened that night in his 
quarters, and Garak was never as open with him again; 
but even though the tailor had assumed his old pose as 
a man-of-mystery, underneath all the usual diversionary 
word-games there was a new note of gentleness.  He was 
making every effort not to seem threatening, and Bashir 
was slowly responding. 

He didn't know where it would go, or even where he wanted 
it to go.  At times, he thought of what it would be like, 
being closer to Garak, and he felt a yearning regret for 
what might have been if that other Garak had not come 
between them and destroyed it. 

Now he was _here_ and about to face Intendant Garak again
--something he never wanted to do, even in less dangerous
circumstances.

"Doctor?" 

Bashir looked up to find his commander standing in the 
doorway behind him.

"We're going to do this, aren't we, sir?" he asked. 
"Help O'Brien save your wife."

"She isn't my wife," Sisko answered.  "But O'Brien's 
right--there are more important issues at stake here, 
and I've agreed to participate.  Major Kira is being 
briefed on her mission right now.  
  
"O'Brien thinks your part in this plan of his is crucial.
I think you can buy him a little more time, but it's not
worth risking your life over.  We'll do what we can to 
rescue Jennifer Bateson and O'Brien's Bashir, but I won't 
put you and Major Kira in unnecessary danger for their 
sake." He hesitated, then said, "I can't order you to do 
what O'Brien wants, Julian. I wouldn't even if I could. 
I know how rough it will be for you to see this Intendant 
Garak again."  

So he did know all about it. "Kira told you what happened 
the last time we were here, didn't she?" Bashir asked 
quietly. 

Sisko shook his head.  "Not Kira. I could see that some-
thing was troubling you, but when I asked, she only said 
that she'd promised not to talk about it.  No, Garak was 
the one who let me know."

This information took Julian completely by surprise. 
"Garak did?"

"We had a conversation--He hinted that you'd once told 
him about something that had happened to you the last 
time you were here.  He told me that he was concerned 
for you, but didn't feel he was in a position to help 
you himself.  I didn't really understand what he was 
trying to suggest, until today."

"Garak," Bashir mused. He would have liked to question 
Sisko further, but they were interrupted by the chirp-
ing of their commbadges.
 
"Commander, it's Kira.  Come back up to the bridge 
right away.  Something's happening." 

They returned to the front of the ship.  Kira stood 
at the door to the antechamber, out of the way of the 
commotion as O'Brien and his crew were busy on the main 
bridge below.  

"What's going on?" Sisko asked.

"We've received a coded distress signal from our haven 
on Bajor 8's lower moon--the abandoned mining camp," 
O'Brien explained.  "We would've missed it if Sforzi 
hadn't run a routine check on the emergency frequency 
while we were passing by."  He stooped to read the 
message on the communications screen, then muttered, 
"Bloody hell... We've got trouble."  He turned to the 
second crewmember, who had moved up to the transporter 
console.  "Cath, can you lock onto that signal and 
bring 'm up?"

"I've got him."  The transporter engaged.

And the other Bashir materialized on the platform.   

/~ii~/

Since his last visit to this mirror-universe, Julian 
had wondered if he had a counterpart here. He'd felt a 
strange anticipation when O'Brien had mentioned 'Jules 
Bashir,' and although more immediate concerns had 
occupied him, the question remained at the back of his 
mind: What would this other Bashir be like? 

It was more than simple curiosity to see how this 
universe would have twisted his own basic personality; 
here, the genetically unaltered version of himself 
truly would be different.  This was his chance to see 
how he might have turned out if _he_ had never been 
enhanced.

His first thought was that this other Bashir looked 
smaller than he was, slouched with shoulders hunched 
forward. He had a wary, hunted look as his eyes darted 
around the chamber--which changed to relief when he saw 
O'Brien, then to confusion at the people who were with 
him.  The dark stubble on his face was almost a beard. 
His hair was long and slicked back in an approximation 
of the Cardassian style, and he was wearing a rumpled 
and dirty, close-fitting bodysuit of some clingy, dark 
blue material.  

*What the fashionable catamite wears,* Julian thought, 
and found himself surprised that the outfit wasn't more 
revealing or sleazy, or made entirely of leather.  

"Jules," said O'Brien, "what's happened?"

"I had to get away quickly. Garak knows there's a spy," 
Jules Bashir announced.  As he moved to step off the 
transporter, his eyes went glassy. And then he fell.

Julian knelt to examine him.  Pulling open the front of 
the bodysuit revealed a large purple bruise on the young 
man's chest surrounding patches of bloody, scraped and 
broken skin.  "He's sustained some sort of injury. Have 
you got a sickbay on this ship of yours?"

/~*~/

They carried him into the captain's quarters--the largest 
private room on the ship--and, using the limited first-
aid materials at hand, Bashir tended to his counterpart's
injuries. After the others had exited, O'Brien lingered, 
brow furrowed anxiously while he watched the doctor work.  

When the young man regained consciousness, he asked, 
"When did you leave Terek Nor?"

"Yesterday morning," Jules answered slowly, still some-
what dazed.  "I overheard a report to Intendant Garak, 
that Captain Sisko had been intercepted on his way to 
the station to rescue the professor.  Garak wondered how 
he knew to find her there, and he said he was going to 
launch an investigation. I got out as soon as I could."

"Did Garak do this to you?" 

Jules gave him a small smile. "It's hardly Garak's style.  
No, Miles, I did it myself.  I slipped and fell climbing 
over the damn rocks in the cave last night. It hurts like 
hell.  I think I broke something."  He tried to explore 
the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, but Julian 
took his wrist and moved his hand out of the way.

"A few of your ribs are cracked, but they don't seem to 
have punctured any vital organs," the doctor reported 
impersonally.  "You also have a fractured sternum. I'll 
see if I can give you something for the pain." He picked 
up the medical kit on the floor near his feet and began 
to rummage through it, finding it difficult to look his 
patient in the face.  

But Jules Bashir was studying him with interest. "You're 
me, aren't you?  The other one Miles and the Intendant 
are always talking about.  You're a doctor?" 

"That's right."  

It had been a strange experience to work on the 
unconscious body of his twin, bare now except for a 
scrap of undergarment.  Julian had distanced himself by 
focusing on the injuries he needed to treat, and not 
on his patient's too-familiar torso.  Now that this 
other Bashir was awake and talking, it was almost more 
than he could handle.

*He's _not_ me,* he told himself sternly. *He doesn't 
even have my name, or the same genetic material I do.  
We are not connected to each other in any way.*  

"A doctor," said Jules. "I could never be anything like 
that.  You must be smarter than I am."

"I've had more advantages," Julian answered. He found a
packet of green-colored, gelatin-filled capsules in the 
medical kit. 

"No, I'm just stupid," his counterpart replied. "Stupid, 
and pretty. Good for only one thing--that's what every-
one says, isn't it, Miles?"

"Jules..." O'Brien warned him.

"Except for Miles. He thought I could be a spy. I could 
do my work straight from the Intendant's bed."

"Yes, I've heard," Julian murmured sympathetically. "It 
must've been terrible for you."

"Oh, I didn't mind." Jules was quick to clear up this 
misunderstanding.  "I was _glad_ when Miles put me in 
the Intendant's way. You don't know the kind of voles' 
nest I was in before--I would've done anything to get 
out. With Intendant Garak, I got some nice, new clothes, 
good food, and a comfortable bed every night."  He 
grinned at Julian's shocked and repulsed expression.  
"Maybe it's different where you come from.  It doesn't 
matter much if you're pretty.  In _my_ world, it means 
you're a piece of tail to any guard or overseer who's 
looking for a little fun.  You have to find someone 
to look out for you before you get fucked to death.  
Intendant Garak's better than most. He doesn't go out 
of his way to hurt me, unless he's drinking and he 
thinks I'm _you_."  He threw O'Brien a look of sullen 
resentment.  "I'm sorry I had to leave."

"It was over for you anyway," O'Brien retorted.  "It 
wasn't going to take Garak long to figure out who told 
us about Jen Bateson."

"Why d'you think I ran?  But if I'd kept my mouth shut, 
I could've slept in the Intendant's bed last night, 
instead of hiding out in cargo holds and wet caves, 
freezing my arse off and getting my bones broke," Jules 
said grumpily. "But it's all for the good of our people, 
isn't it?"

"And don't you forget it," O'Brien replied. 

/~*~/

"Is he going to be all right?" O'Brien asked as he 
followed Julian out into the narrow corridor, where 
Kira and Sisko were waiting. 

"He'll be fine," the doctor assured him, reporting to 
his commander at the same time.  "If I had access to 
proper medical equipment--a dermal regenerator, and a 
bone-knitter--he'd be up and about right now. I've done 
what I can without them, but he needs time to heal.  He 
should stay in bed for the next few days and move around 
as little as possible."  In spite of the way they had 
spoken to each other, Julian noted that O'Brien seemed 
to be genuinely concerned for the other Bashir.  "You 
really care about him, don't you?"

O'Brien shrugged.  "He's not the selfish little slut he 
makes himself out to be. A boy like that'd have to harden 
up early in life just to survive.  He didn't have to go 
to Garak, you know.  When I got him out of that brothel 
at Kav'Edelur, he could've gone to hide in the Sea of 
Wraiths with the rest of the refugees.  But I explained 
to him how important it was that we have someone to be 
our eyes and ears on Terek Nor, and that no one else 
would do.  And if all he wanted was nice clothes and a 
comfy bed, and wasn't too particular about who he was 
fucking, he could've cosied in once Garak picked `im up, 
and never put himself in danger by sending me reports."  

Bashir was suddenly, unreasonably embarrassed that 
Sisko and Kira were listening to this.  It shouldn't 
matter--_their_ counterparts had been a pirate turned 
revolutionary and a power-mad tyrant; why should he be 
ashamed that _his_ was a prostitute?--and yet it did.  

*He is not me,* Julian told himself again. *He's nothing
like me.*

He understood Garak's vehement denial that he and Intendant 
Garak were alike. Kira did the same when speaking of her own 
counterpart.  It was hard to see someone so much like your-
self, but who had done things you never wanted to believe 
you were capable of doing.

"Jules isn't all that bright," O'Brien concluded, "but he 
knows what really matters.  He wants his freedom as much 
as the rest of us, and he's done some of the rebellion's 
best work for it."  

"But if he's here, you're not going to need Dr. Bashir's
help after all," said Sisko.

"If you don't mind, Commander, I'd like him to come along
anyway. You couldn't go back to the Sea with two Bashirs,  
and it'd be handy to have him with us, just in case."

Sisko nodded and looked to Bashir.  "It's up to you, 
Doctor."

Under these new conditions, it was possible that he would 
not even see Intendant Garak.  "Yes, all right," Julian
consented. "I'll go."

"Good man!" O'Brien grinned at him.  "Now, could you get 
into that outfit Jules was wearing when he came aboard?  
And comb your hair back the way his is.  You won't fool 
anyone for long, but it'll do."

/~*~/

When Julian went back into the 'sickbay' to retrieve 
the bodysuit, his patient lay quietly, flat on his back, 
arms protectively across his chest beneath the blankets. 
His eyes were shut and he was breathing lightly; Julian 
thought that he must be asleep, but as he stooped to 
gather up the crumpled garment from the floor, Jules 
opened his eyes.

"What do you want that for?" he asked.

"I'm going to Terek Nor. O'Brien thinks I need a disguise."

Jules smiled.  "So you're going to be me for awhile, 
Doctor?"

Julian didn't answer.  He refused to be drawn in by his
counterpart's taunting.

"If you see Garak," the other Bashir continued, "just 
remember that he likes it when you nibble on those scales 
under his ears."

/~*~/

He emerged onto the bridge 20 minutes later, self-
conscious in the tight suit. O'Brien was already there, 
wearing an unassuming servant's tunic.  Kira arrived 
soon after; she had squeezed into a green-tinted leather 
outfit, similar to the one Intendant Kira had worn, but 
with a long, sleeveless vest of metallic mesh over it.

"You look like a Klingon," Bashir tried to joke, and 
received a sharp glare from the major.

"It's the uniform of a Bajoran Subvisor," O'Brien 
informed them.  "Fits okay?"

"I guess so." Kira ran her hands down her hips, stopping
at the broad belt with a jeweled dagger hung at one side 
and a small disruptor at the other.  "And what are you 
supposed to be?"

"Your humble servant, Ma'am."  With a little bow.

"And the three of us are going to beam over to Terek Nor-"

"No," O'Brien corrected her.  "It'd look too suspicious 
if we uncloaked and came near the station in this ship. 
And what if Garak's in the Operations Center?  No, we're 
going to arrive like an official envoy from Bajor--for 
that, we need an official Bajoran transport."

"Where are we going to get one?" asked Bashir.

"From the shipyard at Dahkur City.  We can steal one. 
It'll be the easiest thing we do today."  He turned to 
Sisko. "A word with you, Commander, before we go?"

Sisko nodded, and O'Brien stepped down to join him on 
the main bridge.

O'Brien lowered his voice.  "I've had a talk with Whelan 
and Sforzi. I've told 'em that you're to be captain on 
this mission, and they're to treat you just as they would 
our own Ben Sisko. They'll be with you the whole time, to 
help out if you need it. They know what's to be done once 
you're back at the base. If all goes well, we'll meet up 
with you and the rest of the Terran fleet after we've got 
Jennifer and we can join you in time for the assault on 
the station."

"You've got a lot of confidence that this mission will be
successful.  And a lot of trust in me," Sisko observed. 
"If I've got your ship and crew, what's to stop me from 
using your transporter and beaming myself home?"

"You won't," O'Brien smiled and glanced up at Bashir and 
Kira, who stood waiting near the transporter platform. 
"If I know my Ben Siskos, you wouldn't leave your people 
behind.  And don't you worry--I'll do everything I can 
to see that you get them back."

/~iii~/

The small sublight spacecraft was obtained from the 
Dahkur shipyard without incident. A Subvisor had only to 
appear and announce that she wanted a ship for herself 
and her attendants, and no questions were asked.

They set a course for Terek Nor, on the far side of the 
planet at this point in its orbit. While O'Brien piloted 
the craft, swinging them from the nightside of Bajor into 
daylight, Kira continued to pace behind his chair, too 
restless to settle down during this short journey.

She was well aware of why Commander Sisko thought she 
had volunteered so quickly for this mission.  She could