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Julian Bashir let out a loud huff of annoyance as the screen of the computer in his office blinked off. He had imagined that frontier medicine would be a lot more dangerous and exciting, and a lot less tedious and irritating. First, there had been all those ambassadors complaining to him as if everything wrong with the station was his fault. And then, almost as soon as he finally escaped to try to get a bit of work done, his computer turned out to be on the fritz again. He tried the power button a few times with varying levels of pressure, but the machine completely failed to respond.
"Bashir to O'Brien," he said as he tapped his combadge.
"Yes sir?" the operations chief's voice responded.
Julian felt a twinge of disappointment at Miles's continued refusal to call him by his first name. "My computer down here in the infirmary just shut down while I was in the middle of something, and I can't seem to turn it back on again. Any chance it's related to those problems you were having in ops earlier?"
"Could be. We're getting reports of technical malfunctions all over the station."
"Well, could you let me know when it's fixed?"
"You'll know it's fixed when your computer starts working again, sir," Miles responded with a rather terse tone.
Julian sighed. He hated waiting around, not being able to get anything done, and not having any estimated timeframe for when things would go back to normal.
Well, he didn't have any appointments for the next little while, so he decided he might as well go up to ops himself and see what was going on. Hopefully it would at least be a little more entertaining than sitting in his office twiddling his thumbs.
He left the infirmary and strode briskly along the promenade in the direction of the nearest turbolift. He hoped none of the visiting ambassadors were loitering nearby, ready to accost him with further complaints about the quality of their quarters. As he scanned his surroundings to be sure of his safety, a voice from behind made him jump.
"Good afternoon, doctor."
"Garak!" Julian whirled around and nearly bumped into the station's sole Cardassian inhabitant, who had apparently managed to sneak up rather concerningly close to him while his attention was elsewhere. "You startled me. You're rather stealthy for a tailor."
"Oh, I do apologize. Cardassians have naturally soft footfalls, I'm afraid," Garak claimed, looking far too pleased with himself for Julian not to suspect that he'd done it on purpose.
Julian had seen Garak around the station and said hello to him a few times since his tip-off about the Duras sisters had facilitated the arrest of Tahna Los, but he hadn't made much progress toward figuring him out. He was obviously neither as plain nor as simple as he professed to be, but if he was working for his countrymen on Cardassia Prime, why had he come to a member of Starfleet with information that benefited the Federation and the Bajorans? Was it the first step of a long-term plan to gain the Federation's trust for ultimately malicious purposes? Or was he playing both sides?
"Apparently so," Julian responded. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm on my way to ops at the moment, so—"
"What a fortuitous coincidence!" Garak exclaimed with a beaming grin. "Would you grant me the pleasure of allowing me to accompany you? I have a special delivery for Commander Sisko. Emergency repairs to his dress uniform for a diplomatic reception this evening."
Garak lifted one arm, drawing Julian's gaze to the garment bag draped over it.
"Oh! Alright, we can walk together, then."
"Perfect."
Resuming his walk toward the turbolift with Garak by his side, Julian was momentarily concerned that he was playing into the hands of an enemy agent somehow. But surely ops wasn't exactly top-secret—he'd shown all the ambassadors around there just earlier the same day. Garak wouldn't be able to gather any sensitive information just by setting foot inside for a few moments, would he?
"Commander Sisko trusts you with his uniform, then, does he?" Julian asked.
"Why shouldn't he, doctor? I do hope you're not disparaging my tailoring skills."
"No! No, I just meant . . . never mind."
Julian sighed at his own incompetence as the turbolift doors opened and he stepped inside. He was never going to suss out any clues about Garak's true intentions at this rate.
"Ops," he instructed the computer once he and Garak were both standing comfortably inside. The doors slid shut again, and the turbolift smoothly began its journey.
"I understand this dinner reception will be quite the event," Garak remarked. "Attended by visiting ambassadors from four planets?"
"Now, where did you come across that information?" Julian inquired with suspicion.
Garak chuckled. "Doctor, please. It's the talk of the station. If the ambassadors' visit was meant to be a secret, perhaps you shouldn't have taken them to the dabo tables."
"Right. Makes sense." Julian chided himself internally again. He needed to put a little more thought into what he said, or Garak would have him constantly on the back foot.
"I would love a chance to meet Ambassador Taxco while she's here," Garak added. "The Arbazan people have such interesting fashions."
"Do they?" That was better. Keep the questions more general and less pointed, and see what Garak revealed.
"Oh yes, such elegant, draping gowns. And the colours—"
Suddenly, the lights flickered out, and the turbolift juddered to such an abrupt halt that Julian stumbled a bit before regaining his balance.
"Hmm. That's strange." Julian tapped his combadge. "Bashir to Ops?"
"Go ahead, doctor," Major Kira's voice replied.
"The turbolift I'm in has just stopped. Seems like the power's out?"
"We're reading a turbolift failure, doctor," the major confirmed. "We'll beam you out."
"Perfect. Thanks. Oh, that's two to beam out—I happened to run into Garak." Julian glanced over at Garak as he referred to him, and saw an understandable expression of concern on his face. "He's bringing the commander's dress uniform. I assume that's alright? I'm not entirely sure what the official policy is on civilians in ops, to be honest."
Julian waited, but heard no response—and neither did he materialize in ops like he expected to.
"Um. Major?" he nervously asked once he judged enough time had passed to justify it.
"Looks like the transporter's down too." Kira finally spoke again, reassuring Julian that at least she could hear him, even if it came at the same time as imparting bad news. "Sorry, doctor. Starting the repairs now."
"Oh. No worries, then," Julian tried to keep his tone light and pleasant despite his annoyance. "Just let me know if—"
Julian turned his head at the sound of rustling fabric, and immediately forgot what he was going to say.
Garak had dropped the garment bag to the floor. His fists were clenched, his body trembling, his eyes wide with terror.
"Garak? Are you feeling alright?" Julian whipped his tricorder out of his pocket and began a series of scans.
"I—I—" Garak's attempts to answer were interrupted by ragged, shallow breaths.
Julian's scans were reading extremely elevated levels of adrenaline. Much higher endorphin levels than he would have expected too, but maybe that was within the normal range for Cardassians—clearly the adrenaline was more of a problem.
And considering that this condition seemed to have been triggered by the revelation that they were stuck, Julian felt fairly confident in asking, "Do you have claustrophobia?"
Garak managed to nod weakly in confirmation.
"Okay. Okay." Julian couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous himself. Physical problems he could handle—psychological ones weren't exactly his specialty. But he could certainly try. "Um, we're going to take some deep breaths, alright? Just follow me. In . . . and out."
Julian did his best to demonstrate inhaling and exhaling in a slow and even rhythm, complete with illustrative gestures. Garak's rapid breaths slowed slightly, but there was hardly any change to the horror-struck look on his pallid face.
"Garak—can I touch you, is that alright?"
At another wordless nod, Julian reached out to gently rest his hands on Garak's upper arms, bending down slightly to look him straight in the eye.
"Garak, look at me. We're going to be okay. They'll repair the transporter system, and we'll be out of here before you know it. You'll blink and we'll be in the nice big operations center. And until then, I'm here, and . . . and I'll take care of you, alright? Now. Deep breaths."
He began another long inhale, and this time Garak struggled a little less to join him. Julian let go of Garak's arms and took a half-step back, giving him more space as he continued to lead the breathing exercises.
"Thank you, doctor. That—" Garak's speech was a little disjointed, still interrupted by the occasional gasping breath, but some colour was starting to return to his face. "—that does help. A rather foolish affliction, to be unable to control one's own irrationally exaggerated fear response. I apologize for troubling you."
"No, no, no need to apologize. I know what it's like." Julian did his best to reassure his patient as his breathing gradually slowed to something approaching normalcy. "I mean, I'm not claustrophobic, but I do get terribly anxious sometimes. It got really bad for a while, when I was younger. So I know how it feels. What I used to do was, I'd close my eyes and recite this little mantra to myself about facing my fear. 'Fear is the mind killer'—that's how it started."
Garak was breathing a lot more regularly now, his eyes remaining fixed on Julian's rather than flitting about the turbolift in panic, and that even gaze suddenly made Julian feel a bit self-conscious. He hoped he wasn't rambling about himself too much. He knew he had a bad habit of trying to relate to someone else's experience by telling them about something similar he had gone through, but then going on about it for too long and ending up coming across like he was making their problem all about him. It was one of the most frequent complaints he got about his interactions with patients during the residency period of his academy training.
"'Fear is the mind killer'? An interesting turn of phrase. Is it a common idiom among humans?" Garak asked with what did sound like genuine interest, making Julian feel a little bit better.
However, now he had put himself in the position of having more context to explain. "Well, not exactly. It's from a book I really liked."
"Ah, a human literary reference, then? Please, doctor, don't hesitate to tell me about its origin. It will provide a welcome distraction from—" Garak waved his hand at the turbolift wall. "—our disconcerting situation. And I have been trying to familiarize myself with some of the arts and culture of the Federation, to better make pleasant conversation with my customers."
For a moment, Julian wondered if Garak might truly have some other, more unsavoury motivation for wanting to learn about Federation cultures—but he reasoned that he surely wouldn't be revealing any sensitive information by just telling him about Dune.
"It was actually a science fiction novel from Earth's mid-twentieth century, envisioning what the far future might be like," Julian began. "And I always find that sort of thing really interesting to look back on. I mean, this was about a hundred years before humans discovered warp travel, so the author had to imagine for himself how we might one day visit other solar systems, and his ideas were really out there."
Garak nodded in understanding. "Cardassian literature has a similar tradition of speculative future settings. But please, go on—what happens in this imagined future of yours?"
"So, the protagonist—a young man named Paul—his family is put in charge of the governance of a planet called Arrakis. But what he doesn't know is that there's sort of a conspiracy that's been priming the colonized people of this planet to see him as a messianic figure. Well, not him exactly, they had actually meant to enact their plan with the generation after him, but his mother—sorry, do you know what I mean by 'messianic figure'? I'm afraid I don't know much about religious traditions on Cardassia—is that a concept you're familiar with?" Julian hoped he was striking the right balance of making sure his explanation was understandable, without being patronizing.
Once again, Garak fortunately showed no outward signs of annoyance. "Like the Klingons and their beloved Kahless?" he asked.
"Right, something like that. So, Paul's family goes to Arrakis, and almost immediately, they're attacked by their enemies. It turns out their doctor was actually manipulated into betraying them."
"You do have to be careful with doctors," Garak interjected with a teasing smile. "They so easily learn so many of your weaknesses."
Julian smiled back. "I can't argue with that. Actually, I was terrified of doctors when I was a child. It was the way they seemed to have so much power over life and death that frightened me."
"And so you chose to become the very thing you feared?"
"I suppose I did," Julian responded with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Maybe I wanted some of that power for myself."
"You are a very interesting man, doctor."
Julian's face flushed. "Thank you. Um, so are you."
Garak gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Hardly. The only power I hold is over fabric and thread. Tell me more about Paul and Arrakis."
Julian couldn't help but feel a little suspicious of how quickly Garak jumped to reiterate his status as a so-called simple tailor before changing the subject. But now was hardly the time to pry. And besides, Garak had done a masterful job of redirecting Julian's attention back to something he was excited to talk about. So he put his concerns about the Cardassian's true motives aside, and resumed his explanation of the adventures that had captivated him in his youth.
An hour later, Julian and Garak had both made their way to the floor of the still-unmoving turbolift. Garak was sitting cross-legged, the garment bag containing Sisko's uniform spread out across his lap. His back was ramrod-straight. On the other hand, Julian had wanted to stretch his legs out, and ended up sprawled in a position that was almost lying down. He twisted his body in Garak's direction to get a better look at his face as the conversation took a particularly entertaining turn.
"I'm sorry, but I still can't believe it," Julian exclaimed. "You thought you'd give one human writer a chance, out of idle curiosity, and you went with James Joyce?"
"I was under the impression that he was well-respected," Garak responded.
"Of course he is! He's brilliant! But he's also practically impenetrable! It took me ages to get through an annotated edition of Ulysses, and I'm still not brave enough to try Finnegans Wake."
"That would explain some of the challenges I had with the vocabulary."
"Has it even been translated into Cardassian, or were you struggling through it in a second language?"
"Hardly just my second, doctor. You'd be surprised how many languages a tailor picks up to better communicate with a diverse customer base."
Julian shook his head. "That's absurd. I can't believe you put yourself through that. Why didn't you try reading something a bit more accessible as your first foray into a whole other planet's literature?"
"Well, I hardly know where to start. What would you suggest?"
"Hmm." Julian cast his mind back to the books he had once been assigned in school. "Oh, there's this one I really loved called The Giver. The writing style is rather simple—it's aimed a bit more at teenagers—but the emotional depth of the story . . . you know, I think I actually have a copy. Maybe I could lend it to you?"
Garak smiled. "I will consider it, doctor. Perhaps a mutual exchange? I could introduce you to the literary traditions of Cardassia."
"I can't say I've learned much of the language yet, but if you have any in translation—"
"Some of our classics are almost as poetic in Federation Standard as the originals. I'll have to review the contents of my personal library, but I believe—oh!"
Garak cut himself off with an exclamation of surprise when the lights flickered back on, and the machinery of the turbolift sprung back to life, once more carrying them upwards through the station.
"Oh!" Julian repeated, scrambling to stand up so he wouldn't be in such an unprofessional position when the doors opened. "Huh. I had figured they'd fix the transporter first, but all's well that ends well."
"Indeed." Garak was much more elegant and controlled in his parallel return to his feet. "I mean no criticism of the quality of your company, doctor, but I am glad we appear to have been rescued."
"So am I. Can't stay in a turbolift forever. For one thing, I was starting to get a bit peckish."
It only took a few more moments for the lift to deposit them in ops, and Commander Sisko looked up from a conversation with Miles over one of the consoles at their arrival.
"Glad to see you made it, doctor!" he exclaimed. "And Mr. Garak! I was getting worried I'd be without my dress uniform at the dinner tonight."
"I must apologize, commander, but it may have become somewhat wrinkled when the power failure jostled us around a bit. Still, nothing a good sonic steaming won't fix." Garak handed the garment bag over to the commander with a deferential bow. "Could I trouble you to beam me to the promenade? After the experience I've just had, I'm rather wary of stepping straight back into the turbolift."
"Of course. We can do that, right, chief?"
"One moment, sir," Miles replied. "Just let me double check that everything's in order."
Garak turned to Julian with a smile. "We'll have to continue our conversation another day, doctor. I am curious to hear more about your planet's literature."
"I'd like that too," Julian responded, despite feeling a little shy about expressing his burgeoning affection for a suspected spy in front of his superior officer. "Perhaps . . . we could have lunch?"
"Tomorrow? 1200 hours?" Garak suggested.
"Make it 12:30," Julian countered. "I should be done with my morning appointments by then."
"I'll see you in the replimat, doctor," Garak promised in the last moment before the transporter beam shimmered to life, and he disappeared.
Julian was still smiling at the empty spot where Garak had been standing when Miles asked him, "Did you just make a lunch date with a Cardassian spy?"
"I think I did," Julian conceded with a shrug.
And despite all of his trepidation about the possibility that Garak had some devious designs on him yet to be revealed, Julian couldn't help but be happy about it.