Author's Note: After perusing Memory Beta, I came across mention of a Cardassian First Republic, circa late 21st century. So, I've decided to rename the post-war DT Cardassian government, the Second Republic from here on in.
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Cardassia City
Cardassia Prime
Garak pulled the cloak tight around him, making sure the hood covered his head and a good deal of his face. He did so not just to conceal his features but as protection against the heavy particulates in the air. The dust, generated by the blast, hung like clouds still over the capital city.
Even though he walked briskly, Garak had to make sure he didn’t run into any other passerby and he definitely wanted to avoid the security forces roving the city. He had noted an increase in armed patrols.
Urlak hadn’t announced it yet, but Garak knew martial law when he saw it. If he keep to the shadows he should be fine.
Really? He had to ask himself, shaking his head. Everything had gone awry. His careful plans to embarrass and expose Urlak had fallen apart when Gul Gavran kidnapped his granddaughter, creating sympathy for the man. And Urlak would doubtlessly stroke the patriotism of the people to respond to the horrific embassy bombing.
It didn’t hurt Urlak that the agitation of subject worlds for freedom or a greater role in the Second Republic made many Cardassians feel isolated and put upon. In fact, Urlak had ridden that general frustration into the premiership.
And now he could exploit it for all its worth. Garak was reeling. He didn’t know what to do, but he would never let on to Illiana about his desperation. He thought the woman might take things into her own hands, and Garak didn’t trust her. He wasn’t sure if she would turn against him or do something completely reckless and doom them both.
I need time to think, to strategize, the notion ran through his head, as he rounded the corner, finding the shuttered house. Ignoring the shattered windows, he pushed through the half-open door, his hand on the handle of his disruptor in case he ran into any querulous squatters.
The darkened room was permeated with the acrid odor of urine. Garak ignored that, and other more pungent smells as he made his way to the cellar.
The basement door had been ripped off long before. Garak stood at the precipice, looking down into the dark stairwell. All he remembered was the slow, sick, thump of flesh as his beloved Mila was thrown down the stairwell, after being murdered by the Jem’Hadar; killed for protecting him. He remembered holding her in his arms one last time, seeing the light extinguished forever from her kind eyes.
He had never known a more selfless person than Mila. Garak hadn’t believed such behavior possible. He still found it hard to be fathom. But Mila had been real, and she had loved him, and he had loved her. The intense emotions he had held so carefully in check when she was alive now poured out of him. He had never properly mourned for her. Sinking to his knees, he let his tears flow.
He knew he could always find sanctuary with Mila and even after she had been taken away from him, Garak felt the only place he could find a modicum of safety on this mad world was the place she had last inhabited. He hoped her spirit remained here, the eerie thought gave him solace.
Sitting down in the doorway, he curled up, and remembered some of the better times of his youth, of the time spent with Mila.
Garak knew he had made a fatal mistake when he heard the crunch of boots behind him. He had been so wrapped up in his memories that he hadn’t heard anyone enter the house or sneak up behind him. Knowing his life was probably over, Garak whipped around anyway, flicking his wrist, producing a fold-out disruptor, while reaching for the other gun in the folds of his cloak.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” He demanded of the slender figure standing just inside the foyer. She already had a disruptor trained on him.
“Good to see you to Garak,” Illiana Ghemor replied, “Care to drop the disruptor now?”
“You first,” he said. The woman, her human guise still disconcerting, finally shrugged and slowly lowered her weapon. It took Garak a longer time to do likewise. “What are you going here?”
“I came to find you of course,” she remarked.
He rolled his eyes at the flippant reply, “Well naturally; now are you going to answer my question.”
Ghemor smiled, the gesture ghastly in the wan light. “I think it is time for your close up.” Garak’s heart beat faster. What was the woman getting at?
“What are you talking about?” He made his voice gruff, to hide his growing unease.
“I want to be in on the exclusive,” she said, “I want to break the network of information you have on Urlak.”
“Who will listen now?” Garak replied bitterly, “The whole of the Republic is swept up in the drama of Melken Urlak’s kidnapping.”
“My…sources have informed me that that issue will be resolved shortly, and to the premier’s benefit. He’ll soon be soaring higher than ever, with his granddaughter back, his opposition neutralized, and strong public support, now would be the best time to strike, when it is least expected, and when he is least prepared.”
“Are you so ready to lose your journalistic perch? Or your life? You know that as soon as you transmit my expose, Urlak’s security services will begin looking into your background and I doubt even your faked identity will withstand the scrutiny.”
Her smile widened, “Well I am growing tired of this skin,” she remarked. “Not pebbly enough.”
“What shall go for next my dear, Grisellan?” Garak asked, “Winter is approaching after all.”
Ghemor laughed, “No, I think I will return to Bajor…to be with my… sister.”
“Colonel Kira,” Garak replied, shaking his head at the sad memory of seeing the once vibrant woman withering away on a respirator.
“After all that our people have been through, it really reminds you of what is important in this life. And as improbable as it seems, that Bajoran woman is the only family I have left, and I have much to atone for, for what I did to her,” Ghemor replied, “It is the least I can do to be at her bedside, to encourage her to wakefulness.”
“So you want to explode a quantum torpedo as your exit?” Garak asked. “I just don’t think that is the best move. It will just swept under the rug, by our people and the Federation.”
“I don’t deny that,” she answered.
“Then why?” Garak hated the pleading tone of his voice. Ghemor thought about her response, which was not a good sign.
“It’s the modified voraxna I slipped into Urlak’s bloodstream,” she admitted.
“You what?” Garak exploded, lifting his weapon. Ghemor did the same. “Illiana how could you be so foolish?”
“I wasn’t going to let Urlak walk away from this alive, no matter what happened? He murdered Natima Lang, he manipulated me into nearly killing Kira; he wasn’t going to skate away and into the premiership no less.”
“You took away what was rightfully mine!”
She laughed, “There’s no ownership issues here. I did what was best for Cardassia.”
“Or so you thought,” Garak reined in his surging emotions. Just like he had feared, Illiana had done something rash, and it might just doom them yet.
“Yes, Urlak still breathes, so the poison didn’t work,” she replied, shaking her head, her face a mask of consternation.
“It is possible that the poison has been discovered and his men are looking for you as we speak,” Garak said, not entirely disappointed with such an outcome. He couldn’t work with the undisciplined.
“No,” Ghemor reasoned, “If that were the case, I would be dead already. No, the poison must have been counteracted or mutated by other agents in his system.”
“As a high ranking member of the Obsidian Order it is certain that Urlak dosed all kinds of antitoxins, and your poison has been counteracted.”
“That was my conclusion as well,” Ghemor said, but one side effect is a gradual stoppage of blood to the brain, causing a cerebrovascular accident. With the proper inducement, it is possible to still cause the man to have a stroke, removing him from the kotra board, with our hands clean.”
“I don’t want my hands to be clean,” Garak surprised even himself with the admission. It went against a lifetime of training, “I want him to know who ended him.”
“Well that would not be advisable, if you were the source of the corruption allegations,” Ghemor frowned, “It would then be easier to dismiss.”
“So what about my revenge?”
“Is vengeance more important than justice?”
Now it was Garak who had to pause. He gazed around the dark, dusty room, his youth traipsing through his memories, and he settled on an old broken recliner, Mila’s favorite. He turned away from it now, unable to look at anything that reminded him of her, because he knew she would not approve of his answer. “Yes,” he said quietly, something breaking inside him, “All I have left is vengeance.”
“If you want that Garak, you can have it,” Ghemor’s voice was surprisingly tender. “But first, the case has to be made against Urlak, the people need to see the entire truth. If for no reason to insure he is not martyred.”
“You shall have the data,” he conceded, “but after that Urlak is mine.”
“That is fine with me,” she said, “Though I hope you will realize that you living with the anger, the immense burden of it, is worse than dying. I can’t go back to what I was, and it is my hope that you find your way out the dark waters you have waded into.”
His lips curved into a small smile, “Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. “I don’t know if it is too late for me, but I am glad it isn’t too late for you.” He reached into the fold of his cloak and pulled out an isolinear rod. He handed it to her, “This has the data you need.”
“So you always carry your only leverage on your person?”
“Don’t worry I have backups,” he chuckled, “But you never know when it might come in handy. One can never know if I can return to my ship or lodgings either.”
Ghemor nodded in understanding, “I see,” she said, as she took the rod and pocketed it. “I’ll be leaving Prime within the hour. You still have a chance to get out,” she dangled the carrot before him.
“I make my stand here, like so many of our brethren and if my bones are to join theirs, it would be an honor,” he intoned.
Ghemor raised an eyebrow, “Elim Garak talking about honor? Wonders never cease.”
“No, they do not,” he replied, “Farewell Illiana.”
“All my hopes Elim,” she responded. “You’re going to need them.”
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