"What a pathetic duo we make, my dear Doctor. No eyes to see with, and I with this unfortunate hood which constrains my every move. These bonds are not the most comfortable in the world, either." There was a sigh, and Julian grumbled under his breath. "What was that doctor? I'm afraid I cannot hear you very well with this thing."

"I said they're going to pay very dearly for this. Tell me again, Garak - are you all right?" Julian had not been fond of the smell which had greeted his nose upon entering this cell. Nevermind the usual dampness that accompanied stone cells, there was an odor of blood in the air. He had feared the worst when Garak had first called to him - fearing his friend had been at the last threads of his life. But the Cardassian's voice was steady, and strong. He figured the scent came from other misfortunate souls that had resided here before them. This thought made the young man shiver in a mixture of fear and disgust.

"I assure you, Doctor, I'm quite all right. A little worst for wear, but nothing a soothing bath won't fix. Which, I'm afraid, is the very least of what we're in for. Perhaps we should consider ourselves lucky if they give us the hose."

There was a sigh from the doctor, then movement. Garak found himself shoulder to shoulder with his friend, and he found the contact reassuring. Unknowingly, he pressed a little closer to it. "What do you think they'll do to us?" the young man asked, not so much as fear or anxiety in his voice as there was defeat. Garak was surprised that his friend would give up so quickly.

"Well, I don't know about you," the Cardassian replied thoughtfully, straining to keep his enunciation clear so that it carry outside the coarse fabric, "But I certainly know what they intend to do with me. If their tests were any indication, that is," he added.

"And that is?"

"Oh they intend to sell me on this obscure market we have spoken about. I would be made a slave, although not if I have any say in it, mind you. I don't doubt the effectiveness of their disciplinary actions, however." Julian would have detected resignement in any other voice, but this one held steel, determination. For a moment, he envied it.

"Then I suppose my fate will be the same." He paused, hanging his head forward. His blindfold was beginning to cling to his sweaty skin uncomfortably. "Garak ... I don't want to be a slave."

The Cardassian found this statement a little odd, considering their situation. "I'm afraid in these circumstances, you will have to adapt. That is, until we find a way to--"

"No, you don't understand," the young man said, a little more fiercely than he had expected. "When you ... taunted me, I suppose I should call it, when you asked if I had any fantasies about being made a slave. I ... I got angry, because I don't want to be one. I find it revolting and degrading. I guess I lashed out at you because I never thought you'd find that aspect of society as commendable. Or desirable. I don't."

There was a long silence from the Cardassian, then a wiggle of his shoulder made Julian look up - quite unecessarily since he could not see. "I apologize if I offended you with that remark - it was not meant to rile you, I assure you Doctor. Perhaps ..." he sighed. "Perhaps it was more curiosity than anything else. On Cardassia, slavery is quite natural. I have often wondered what your views were on the subject. Perhaps the time to ask was not the best," he added ruefully.

They fell in companionable silence as they waited their destiny. At some point Julian shifted position, trying to get away from Garak. The Cardassian didn't find this at all pleasant, since he had taken warmth from the Human with their contact. Stealthily he edged himself closer to where the Human had gone, and when his shoulder touched his friend's, Garak was shocked to find it shaking. "Doctor?" he called softly. "Are you cold?" When there was no answer, Garak began to worry. "Are you in shock?" he asked a little more insistantly. "Doctor, please talk to me." Then he heard the doctor inhale, sniffle, and knew immediately what was wrong. "You're crying," he said in disbelief.

"Leave me alone. I'm sure the immovable Cardassian doesn't need to be bothered by a bawling Human."

Garak was confused by the dismissal, and pressed on. "Doctor, I would say your reaction is perfectly natural. We are facing a difficult situation, with little or no chance of rescue or escape. We are bound, blindfolded, stripped of our senses, and in addition, trapped in a very confining room. I see no reason why you shouldn't be crying," he added, with a slight lift of humor in his voice.

"Garak, just leave it, all right. This is just shock, it'll pass." The Human's voice was trembling, broken by fresh tears, no doubt. Garak felt himself overwhelmed with a need to protect this man. To comfort and soothe him and tell him everything was all right. It was a strictly non-Cardassian way to think, and yet there it was. Paternal instincts? Or was it just a man's concern for an unrequited lover? Garak sighed and pressed his body more into Julian's, renewing the contact and making sure his friend knew he was not alone.

They spent the rest of the night in silence, the stillness broken occasionally by Bashir's sobs, and Garak's incoherent whispers of comfort.

"Doctor, might I suggest you wake up now."

Bashir emerged from the safety of his dreams and stepped into a realm of sheer terror. Panic gripped him when he realized he could not see nor move. He struggled vainly against his bonds, a hysterical cry wrested from his lips.

"Calm yourself, Doctor - remember where you are."

He remembered. And the terror did not flee as he had hoped. He did, however, calm himself. He let his head fall against the stone wall and let go of a frightfully large breath. "Garak?" he murmured tiredly.

"I am here, Doctor."

There was something different. His voice - something about his voice. Bashir tilted his head, then realized what was wrong. Or rather, in this case, right. They had removed the Cardassian's hood. When he voiced this suspicion, Garak nodded and said, "Yes, they were kind enough to bathe me this morning. I tried vainly to convince them of your hygienic needs as well; they were more concerned with how my wounds were healing. Doctor, I do not think we have much time together. I suspect they are preparing me for the purchase."

"The ..."

"Yes, the purchase. I will use this opportunity to escape, Doctor - but do not fear, I am most certainly returning for you when it is safe. Be strong, and have no worries, please. Trust me."

Trust him. How easily those words came to the Cardassian's lips, and how easily Julian would had laughed mere days ago at the mere possibility of trusting a man of such obscure motives. But at this moment, trusting Garak was the only way he would possibly see salvation. He nodded quickly. "Be careful, Garak. And I don't mean this for my sake." He paused, bowing his head a little. "Just ... be careful."

"I will, Doctor. Now rest, save your strength. I would advise you to feign sleep as often as you can - it would perhaps discourage our despicable captors of any ... acivities they might have in store for you."

When the Cardassian didn't elaborate, Bashir decided not to ask. He simply nodded his affirmative, and slumped back against the wall. "I'll wait for you."

And of course, it was a very silly thing to say. He chuckled, but neither spoke a word after that.

Rare it was that Garak underestimated his opponants. Rarer was the amount of trust he had placed in his own abilities to escape. First rule of thumb, never think any method of stealth is easy. Garak had been a fine spy, but a poor warrior. Right now, battle skills would have been more appropriate. Where's Worf when you need an idiot strong-man? Second mistake Garak had made was to assume too many things. He had assumed his bonds would have been taken off for the buy. He had assumed he would have had many opportunities to flee. And now these assumptions had most probably cost him the valued, if tenuous, trust he had created in Bashir.

But most importantly, Garak had assumed the buy would have been made behind private walls. He found nothing private in the slave market they were leading him to, nor in the dense crowd that surrounded the small wooden podium in the middle.

Grand. Splendid. Elim, you are a fool. More to the point, you are a stupid fool.

And he saw no reason to contradict himself.

Mistress Uia leaned against one of the corner masts, and regarded the gathered audience with an approving eye. Ekaya's slave market had never seen such a popular crowd in a long while. Beside her, Karami was eyeing the proceedings with an anxious look. He fidgeted on his feet and kneaded his hands nervously. Finally she turned to him and frowned. "What is wrong with you?"

"This is the first time we've had a double-presentation with two aliens, Mistress. Aren't you concerned about the fact this is being held publically? I keep expecting their friends to arrive with laser guns and what-nots." Uia smirked and returned her attention to the crowd.

"Relax, Karami. Nothing will go wrong. I have seen to that." Her words trailed off absently as she caught site of an interesting figure amidst the assembly. Her smirk turned into a smile. "I see our friend deemed today a splendid opportunity to go out." At Karami's confused glance, she nodded toward the object of her approval. There, slightly apart from the commoners, was Lord Ilanos. Karami shuddered visibly.

"I hope he does not bet."

"Oh I hope he does," Uia smiled with ominous delight. "He always pays handsomly for exotic merchandise. Now hush - it is beginning."

Indeed, a struggling Cardassian was being brought up the three steps leading to the podium, bound in an interesting harness that promoted very few movements other than those strictly necessary. There was a bit in his mouth, preventing anything but garbled verbal nonsense, and the black leather strips which surrounded his body tightly held his hands and feet with very short, silver chains. If he ever decided to run, the fool, he would sooner trip on his own feet than achieve any sort of escape. Also, she had to admire the tunic they had given him; a simple white uniform whose sleeves were cut short, and whose pants were stuffed tightly into ankle-high black boots. She inspected the twitching Cardassian muscles playing over the thick arms, and Uia smiled in satisfaction. She knew he would bring in a tidy profit.

When Garak stepped onto the small dais, his heart sank as his eyes traveled over the sea of eager Ekayan faces. All there to inspect the merchandise. All there to possibly make a buy on this fine fair-weathered day. Garak struggled anew, but to no avail. The bonds were sturdy and would not allow any movement - any that would be crucial to his escape, anyhow.

Oh Julian, forgive me.

He did not want to think about what they were doing to his friend at the moment. He glanced sideways when a man approached him, trailed his glance nonchalantly over his body, then turned to the audience. "The bidding shall start at one thousand sekth. Do I hear one thousand?"

People murmured amongst themselves. Of course, they had been expecting an expensive bid, but this was an outrageously high price. He was Cardassian, however ... the murmuring continued for a moment more before someone shouted calmly, "I will bid five thousand sekth, and I challenge to a duel anyone who wishes to outbid me."

The murmurs stopped. Off in a corner, Uia was chuckling and rubbing her hands with approval. Karami was simply shaking his head. And he had liked the Cardassian. But as he had feared, Lord Ilanos had made one of those outrageous bids. One, he suspected, was all within the rules of the slave market. The auctionner made an impressed face before he realized it was his turn to speak. Garak was too furious to do anything. "Do I hear a challenge to Lord Ilanos' bid?"

And of course, no-one was that stupid to answer.

"I will place an additional two thousand sekth for the purchase of his companion. If no-one challenges this bid, I shall expect him to be bathed, groomed and delivered along with this one."

The auctionner almost dropped the smooth golden orb in his hand. People in the audience knew the bid was not fair - nobody had had a chance to see the second merchandise. But to contradict Ilanos was inviting trouble. Death sometimes. He ran most of the underground market, after all. "Do I hear another bid for both merchandise?"

No-one spoke. No-one breathed. Only Garak's furious rumbles and grunts could be heard from up on the dais. The auctionner let the orb fall loudly upon the podium. "Sold," he cried, "To Lord Ilanos. They shall be delivered per your request, Lord." He nodded with respect, then waved at the attendants to move the merchandise off the dais. Already, another slave, this one a common Ekayan, was being brought up the platform.

Inside Garak's mind, a storm was brewing. He had to admit that being reunited with Julian would be more comforting than being seperated and always wondering what the hell was happening to the other, but by the looks of the scrawny Lord, Garak had his doubts any good would come out of this. He struggled weakly, already exhausted by the tension in his muscles which the harness was obligating, as they led him back to the compound. By the time they arrived, Garak's grumbles had been reduced to a small, pathetic purr. Eyes half-lidded, lips straining from the bit. He slumped, and was unconscious by the time they threw him under the broad stream of a shower head, stripped, bruised and drugged.

"You wake now, Pretty. Wake."

Julian moaned, and turned to the other side. He frowned in his sleep, not wanting to be disturbed. The shake of his shoulders persisted, however, and he wiggled under the covers with a protesting groan.

"You wake now, Human, now!"

He frowned again, then opened his eyes slowly. Slowly they traveled around his surroundings, first to the beautifully white linens tucked under him, then to the warm, thick covers wrapped around him, and finally to the exquisitely rich decorations adorning his room.

My room?

Surprise and fear gripped him and he violently backed away, hitting his head on the headboard. He groaned and held the back of his head, tears springing in his eyes. "Where am I?" he said with an approximation of a gruff tone. His eyes opened and focused on a short little woman next to his bed. She was Bolian. And given the fact she could not speak Standard very well, he imagined her not of Starfleet. Just his luck. He scrambled into a sitting position and watched her as she fussed over the bed.

"I be Grevld," she said with a tiny little smile. "I be your ... how do you say ... keeper? Yes, I be keeping you nice and clean for Lord Ilanos."

Lord Ilanos? What was this? Where was he?

"You didn't answer my question. Where am I?" he reiterated, forcefully this time. Grevld looked at him with wide, startled eyes.

"You be in Lord Ilanos mansion. This your room. I be your keeper," she repeated as though talking to a small child.

"I have no keeper," he hissed. "You can't keep me here. How was I brought? I can't remember a bloody thing." He pushed the covers away in disgust, to get up, then noted with alarm that he was quite nude. He grabbed the sheets and pulled them back violently over himself. Grevld giggled like an old schoolmarm.

"I see everything. You no shame. You have nice body."

Julian's cheeks flared bright red. He looked away and murmured, "You think I could be left alone for a minute? I ... " he thought quickly. "I need to bathe."

Grevld waved her hand dismissively. "You clean. I wash you this morning." Almost affectionately, she reached up to comb her hand through the young man's hair. "See? Soft and smell nice too. You clean. You need food now, no wash."

Julian realized with surprise that he was indeed hungry. "Can I be alone?"

"You left alone sometime. When alone, you stay here."

Like Hell.

"Door locked ... ah ... soon as I be gone. You stay here."

Damn.

"Grevld will bring you food now. And after, Lord Ilanos will see you and friend together. He be eager to see you."

Friend?

Julian straightened up quickly, the sheets unnoticed as they fell to reveal the smooth expanse of his chest. "Garak? Garak is here? Where? Can I see him? Please?"

Grevld made an annoyed sound as she picked up the dirty slave uniform on the floor. "Messy," she murmured to herself. As she carried the bundle toward the door, she said nonchalantly, "You see friend later. Eat now. I be right back." She left the room before Julian could squeeze another word in, and soon the young doctor was left alone, inspecting his room.

My prison.

Garak woke to a considerably less friendly welcome than Julian's. His head tossed violently to the side as someone backhanded him. "Wake up, Cardie scum!"

The Cardassian elevated himself abruptly, fists instinctively clenched in preparation for battle. He came in contact with the foul breath of a Klingon, and recoiled immediately. "Where ..."

The Klingon slid his dagger back into its holster, so certain was he that there would be no trouble with this particular Cardassian. Garak caught glimpse of it, however, and immediately lunged. The confusion had worked, and the Klingon was being caught off-guard. With a roar, both men fell in a heap on the floor, rolling once before Garak bore down with claw-like hands, digging his nails into the Klingon's neck. The latter choked, gurgled, then heaved himself up with a warrior yell. He threw the tailor back, straddling his waist and squeezing. Garak sneered, brought his knee up and made satisfying contact with his assailant's crotch. With a howl, the Klingon fell back, clutching his bruised groin.

Garak quickly stood, and turned this way and that, looking for an exit. What he found, instead, was the unfortunate barrel of a disrupter. He ducked too late, and his attempt simply turned into a slump before he hit the ground, stunned.

"Let me gut this P'taq!!" the Klingon was growling, pain evident in his face as he used one free hand to unholster his dagger. The other kept nursing his injured crotch. "He does not deserve less than a GUTTING!" he screamed.

Lord Ilanos calmly lowered his weapon, and watched as Garak groggily swayed his head on the floor. His lips turned into a small, wicked smile as he tapped the end of the disrupter on his chin thoughtfully. "No. I paid a pretty penny for this one, and he's mine. The training will be severe - I realize the expenditure which will be in store for this fine specimen. But he is mine, and no-one shall gut him but me. If I so choose, that is." He raised serene green eyes at the Klingon. "And you, my friend, have just come to the conclusion of your servitude. Sto Vo Kor will be a pitiful place with your petty skills as a warrior to contribute." He turned the weapon toward the cowering Klingon, and with a skilled press of the thumb and forefinger, raised the setting to 'desintegration' and engulfed the Klingon in a bubble of pure, lethal energy.

When there was nothing left of the warrior but a nauseating scent of burnt flesh, Ilanos crouched next to his newest addition and tilted his head as he visually explored the Cardassian's features. "Mmmyes, I do believe you'll be a fine addition indeed." He stroked the tailor's cheek, brushed his fingertips against a few ridges, and smiled darkly when Garak squirmed helplessly. "Welcome to your new home," he whispered affectionately, just before he bore down with a closed fist over Garak's chest and sent the tailor reeling into the unconscious.

"Aaaah, Beauty awakes."

Julian turned from his inspection of the balcony, and tightened the robe about him as he entered the room. He scowled at the man poised at the chamber's entrance.

Lord Ilanos was Human. This was the first aspect of his captor to catch the young doctor's eye. That and the mane of incredibly lustrous copper hair. This was kept swept back, in a low pony tail. Then Julian realized that the man's natural hair color might not even be red. He remembered Hokvar's hair, and Ilanos' suspiciously matched the inn-keeper's down to the highlights. A visual marking. It suggested age to the inhabitants. Ekayans who probably didn't know what a middle-aged Human looked like. As Julian deepened his examination, he decided he found the man attractive enough. Long, delicate nose towering over full, curving lips. Heavy-lidded eyes (lined with khol, he noted) which sheltered verdant pupils. When he smiled, Julian shivered, and decided it wasn't the cool breeze which seeped through the opened balcony doors that made his spine tingle uncomfortably.

"You awake, precious," Ilanos repeated, walking toward him. No, not walking ... gliding. Julian was amazed at the man's grace. He nonetheless recoiled, scowling deeply. He remembered that this was also his captor. His owner. The doctor turned away in disgust.

"I demand you release us."

"Oh ... you demand? How quaint ... and how deliciously rebellious." There was a smooth, silky chuckle. "You demand nothing in my presence, Precious. You only give all of yourself and obey my instructions. To do otherwise invites punishment."

Bashir closed his eyes, and allowed his natural anger overwhelm his professional decorum. He swiveled sideways and fixed Ilanos with a mahogany glare. "You're Human," he spat, "You of all people should know this is wrong. I'm part of Starfleet, you know - they'll look for me and my friend, they won't stop until they DO find me - and when they do, to do otherwise than release us will invite much worst than whatever you have in store for me. I am not a slave, nor was I ever, nor will I ever be, is that clear?"

Ilanos watched him for a few moments, his hands calmly laced in front of him as the corners of his lips lifted into a knowing smile. Julian never saw the curled fist coming, and it was with a startled, half-choked cry that he fell to his knees, clutching his bruised jaw. He thought he'd heard a crack, and felt immediate swelling. When he looked up, shocked, Ilanos looked as though he had not moved. He peered down at him serenely. "You were very clear. Now let me be equally clear, Precious." There was no affection bordering his tone anymore, and Bashir cowered back when Ilanos crouched down to grasp his injured jaw. "I have had Starfleet slaves before. I have had slaves from all over the quadrant. Even some beyond. I have never been cought, nor do I intend to be. Is that clear?" When Julian said nothing, just stared at him with doe-eyed realization, Ilanos spread his hands in a sumptuous gesture. "Welcome to your new home, pretty. It shall be so for a very, very long time."

Julian looked away, his lips curled malevolently as he allowed another wave of heated anger. "My home is back at Deep Space Nine, quarters 9H in habitat four - not this ... this ill-reputed house of yours. I am not a thing, not an object to be bought and kept as a ... pet of some kind."

Ilanos clucked his tongue, waving his finger negatively. "But I did buy you, precious, and you are being kept in this ... ah, how did you so eloquently put it? Ill-reputed house." Suddenly, all trace of Ilanos' cheer had gone again, and Julian leaned back as the older man reached out to touch his cheek ominously. "You're mine, dear," he whispered. "Mine forever."

Julian fixed Ilanos for a long moment, mahogany drowning in brilliant green, before he hoarsely spoke.

He said simply, "I want to see Garak."

Continued -->