An Honorable Contest

Victoria Meredith


Disclaimer: All characters and settings are owned by Paramount. This is a not for profit creative endeavor and no copyright infringement is intended.
Archive: "An Honorable Contest" is available for archiving with the permission of the author.


Acknowledgements: This story was inspired by Invicta's "Silly Talk", which is a wonderfully fun story. If you haven't read it yet, check it out on her site: http://www.users.globalnet.co.uk/~esb And while I'm giving Invicta thanks for the inspiration, I'm very grateful for her extremely helpful and generous beta-read of this story. As well, many thanks to my friend and very kind sounding board, Matt Edwards, for all of your help and encouragement.


Part One

Damar entered Quark's bar and made his way through the crowd. The place was filled with aliens, mostly humans and Bajorans. Not a Cardassian in sight nor did he expect to see one. Most of his crew were still on duty. He was one of the fortunate ones. His duty shift had ended and, with their Bird of Prey safely docked at Terok Nor, his evening was free. Damar didn't feel comfortable being alone surrounded by alien strangers, but the noisy, lively atmosphere made a pleasant break from the cramped interior of the Klingon bucket.

As he came to the edge of the counter, Quark bustled up, wearing an eye-blurring jacket of gold and lavender. The Ferengi gave him a quick appraisal.

"You, again," Quark greeted him. "Glinn Damar, right?"

Damar nodded. "You have a good memory."

"I like to get to know my regulars."

"I'm hardly a regular."

"You seem to show up every month or so whenever Dukat brings that Bird of Prey in and visits his daughter. Makes you a regular. You don't look so good."

"It was a difficult month."

"I guess so," Quark nodded as he picked up an empty glass from beneath the bar. "Now, you're just here for a nice quiet drink or two, right?"

"Yes."

"Just remember," Quark said sternly. "No fighting in my bar."

"I'm not here to fight," Damar assured him.

"That's what you said the last time," Quark reminded him.

"That wasn't a fight," Damar corrected. "That was an argument."

"An argument that ended with you shoving Morn off his barstool and me having to call Security."

"He was disrespectful and insulting."

"Well, Morn can be that way sometimes, but there was no reason to get violent over it."

"I'm not here to fight, Quark," Damar insisted. "I have to fight every day of my life, but I'm not going to today. Bring me a kanar."

"Same payment arrangement as always. One ration chip, one bottle of kanar. Or a meal. If I were you, I'd spend your ration chip on a meal."

Quark made it clear in his tone that, even after all these months, he still disapproved of the payment arrangement Gul Dukat had made with Captain Sisko. Damar ignored Quark's annoyance with that. He knew the Ferengi would get his latinum once he turned over the ration chips he would collect from the crew back to Dukat. Damar also ignored his own annoying sense of shame that he had to use ration chips at all. Not that he had any latinum. To get by, all the crew pooled their resources, including their latinum, and Dukat administered the resources fairly and evenly. For tonight, all Damar had was a single ration chip to spend.

"I already ate today," Damar told him. "I'll take the kanar."

"Coming right up," Quark said, then moved over to his enormous collection of bottles lining the back wall of the bar.

Sitting down on a barstool, Damar readjusted the jacket of his uniform and smoothed down the Klingon sash he wore across his chest. His uniform didn't fit right any more, and it rubbed loosely against his shoulder crests. He'd have to get a new uniform somehow. Either that or put some weight back on. He'd rather put the weight back on. All of Cardassia would like to put weight back on. Dukat had done all that he could to keep their raw food stock replenished for the ship's replicators, but being a rogue crew meant having to fend for themselves. Many times, they had barely enough to survive because of the Klingons' chokehold on Cardassia's supply lines.

Damar studied the noisy crowd, talking and drinking and laughing with each other all around the bar. Though he didn't like being surrounded by aliens, he disliked even more being alone. He didn't want to drink by himself, and his eyes searched through the crowd for a likely drinking partner. Too many Bajorans were around. He certainly wasn't going to sit down and drink with one of them, ally or not. He doubted any Bajoran would want to drink with him either. One of the humans, perhaps. Humans weren't so bad, and they could be amusing at times.

Several women caught his eye. The most striking women in the bar were the dabo girls, particularly a red-haired Bajoran woman with a curvaceous body and bright eyes. Damar preferred women of his own kind, but at least Bajorans with their nose ridges weren't as dull looking as the smooth faced humans. The crowd around her table all suddenly shouted "Dabo!" and the Bajoran dabo girl laughed with the rest as she handed the winner a handful of latinum strips.

"Anyone catching your eye?" Quark asked as he returned with a bottle and poured a reasonable portion of kanar into a glass.

"Several," Damar said, forcing his attention away from the Bajoran dabo girl. "You have some lovely women working for you."

"I'm a lucky man," Quark agreed, then gave him a shrewd look. "They're only here to run the games. That's all. You're not going to find any comfort women here."

"I'm not looking for a comfort woman. Comfort women are dull. I prefer lively women who can talk and have something interesting to say."

"Cardassians and their love for talk," Quark said with a humored shake of his head. "You just don't want to drink alone."

"True," Damar admitted.

Taking the glass of kanar, he drained in it one, quick swallow. The thin kanar burned on the way down. He didn't care for cheap kanar, but one day he would afford better. The day he wouldn't have to buy it using ration chips. For now, even cheap kanar did the job.

Setting the glass in front of Quark, Damar ordered, "Another."

"I'll make this one a double," Quark said, sounding a bit irritated. Damar nodded.

"Bloodwine," came a rumbling voice next to him. He looked up to see a Klingon in a Starfleet uniform standing next to him at the bar. Tensing with instinctual readiness to fight, Damar sneered at him. The Klingon gave him a hard glare. He hated Klingons and obviously this one hated Cardassians.

"Glinn Damar," the Klingon greeted him with a cool rumble.

"Do I know you?" Damar studied him. "You look familiar."

"Lieutenant Commander Worf," he said. "My appearance was altered the last time we laid eyes on each other."

"I remember." He picked up the glass and took a healthy swallow of the kanar. This Klingon, a Starfleet officer, was an ally. Not that Damar had much faith in his allies. "The Ty'GoKor mission."

Worf eye's remained hard. "Which you wanted to destroy."

"I still want to destroy it," he grumbled.

"There is a cease-fire in effect between the Klingons and the Cardassians."

Damar glared at him. "We don't recognize your cease-fire."

"Your government does," Worf said as Quark brought him a tankard of bloodwine. "But Gul Dukat has refused to cease his activities against the Klingon Empire."

"We're still at war, cease-fire or not. We'll keep refusing to stop fighting as long as there are Klingons within our borders, terrorizing our people and cutting off our supply lines. As long as there are people starv . . ."

Damar caught himself. No need for this Klingon, even if he was an ally, to know how bad things were for Cardassia. He drained his glass, not wanting to think about the suffering of his people. He felt suddenly guilty sitting there in comfort, enjoying his drink, while people were starving and dying from rampant diseases on his homeworld.

"The Federation is working on peace negotiations," Worf told him. "There will be peace between our peoples soon."

"Not soon enough," he muttered bitterly then gave a gesture to Quark. The Ferengi refilled his glass. "The Klingons should have surrendered the moment they learned that the Changelings had manipulated them into this war against us."

"Surrender?" Worf looked affronted.

"This is an unjust war and you know it," Damar snapped with righteous anger. "Cardassia did nothing to provoke it. All because your Chancellor thought that our civilian government was being run by Changelings."

"You must admit," Worf said. "It is odd for Cardassians to suddenly start a civilian government after five hundred years of military dictatorship."

"It was hardly sudden. Besides, it doesn't matter if you think it's odd. Every Cardassian finds it insulting that the Klingons don't think we're capable of civilian rule on our own. Cardassians can accomplish anything we set our minds to."

"Except defeating the Klingon Empire," Worf pointed out.

Outraged, Damar rose to face Worf, giving the Klingon a hate-filled glare. Quark tried to intervene.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Quark pleaded. "Calm down. Enjoy your drinks. Commander Worf, you've hardly touched your bloodwine. Glinn Damar's up on you three to one."

"Two to one," Damar corrected.

"The second was a double," Quark reminded him. "And so is that one."

The Ferengi pointed to the drink on the bar.

"So it is." Picking up the glass, Damar swallowed as much as he could in one gulp. "That's four to one. You'll need to catch up, Commander."

"I am not interested in getting into a drinking contest with you," Worf replied and took a drink of his bloodwine.

"I don't blame you," Damar said as he sat down on the barstool. "I'd drink you under the table."

"I seriously doubt that," Worf rejoined and sat down next to him. The Klingon deliberately took a long swallow of his wine. "Klingons know how to hold their alcohol."

"So do I," Damar reached for his glass then stopped. If he really was going to match the Klingon drink for drink, he'd better pace himself. Worf was too far behind as it was.

Worf looked him over and gave a disapproving shake of his head at the sash across Damar's chest. "You have no right to wear that sash or the insignias on it."

"I killed the owners," Damar said, giving Worf an arrogant smile. "That gives me the right. They're trophies."

"You killed the owners," Worf said as though he didn't believe him. "Those insignias are from Great Houses. You dishonor yourself by wearing them and claiming that you killed warriors who owned them."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Damar demanded.

"Cardassians are not known for their honesty," Worf replied.

"You know that I've been out there fighting Klingons for nearly a year. How can I fight them without killing any of them?"

"You have fought hand to hand combat with Klingons?"

"I have."

"You do not look as though you could survive such combat."

Damar drew himself tall on his stool. No, he probably didn't, and he probably won't survive such combat now. He had lost too much weight and he fatigued easily lately.

"I wouldn't be sitting here now if I didn't survive it," he said with arrogant bravado.

"Very well," Worf gave a reluctant nod.

"Very well what?"

"You are not a liar. At least, not about this."

Damar grunted at that and picked up his glass. "Drink your drink."

"I am not matching drinks with you," Worf stated firmly. "Those insignias may be trophies, but you have no idea about their significance. You dishonor yourself by wearing them."

"Do I," he said in a cold, flat tone. "I thought that by Klingon standards, I've proven I have honor by killing them in combat. That is how it's supposed to work with you people, isn't it? The victor has more honor than the defeated."

Worf scowled at that, clearly not wanting to admit that Damar had honor. "You may have defeated them, but I doubt that you killed them honorably."

"'Killed them honorably?'" Damar snorted. "There's nothing honorable about killing. It's a necessary thing in war but having to do that doesn't prove honor. The victor proves that he is strong. That he should be respected and feared. Not that he has honor."

"You only say that because you do not know what honor is," Worf stated.

"Of course I do."

"You do not because you have no honor. You are a Cardassian."

"I have no honor because I'm a Cardassian?" Damar snarled at him. "That's your reasoning?"

"Cardassians continually prove that they have no honor."

"I have honor," Damar declared. "And you have no right to say that I don't just because I'm a Cardassian. You don't know me, Commander Worf. You can't just sit down and decide that I have no honor without proof."

"You have provided proof," Worf said. "I remember you from the Ty'GoKor mission, and I know that you are aggressive and ruthless. You wanted to launch an orbital attack and kill thousands of Klingons just to kill one Changeling."

"That Changeling has cost the lives of millions of Cardassians by provoking this inane war. It would have been worth any amount of Klingon blood to kill him."

"What you wanted to do was terrorism," Worf judged with a disapproving shake of his head. "There isn't anything honorable about terrorism."

Damar ground his teeth. "I am not a terrorist. We do have to use guerilla tactics but that's not terrorism. Terrorists strike civilian targets. We have been striking Klingon military installations and ships within our Union, and as long as there are Klingons holding our territories, we will continue to do so."

"Fortunately, your plan to assault Ty'GoKor wasn't necessary. The Changeling was eliminated."

"Not that that did any good."

"It led to the cease-fire."

"You and your cease-fire," Damar sneered. "The cease-fire hasn't ended the war yet, and it's hardly benefited Cardassia at all."

"Without it, Cardassia would have been destroyed by now."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"You refuse to see reality," Worf rumbled. "Cardassia was perilously close to defeat before the cease-fire."

Damar glared at him. "Are you always this rude?"

"How am I being rude?"

"All I wanted to do was to sit here and enjoy a glass or two . . ."

"Or four," Worf interjected.

"Or more," Damar snapped. "If I can, and take my mind off this war. Then you come along and start arguing with me about it and insult me. You called me a liar and said I have no honor, and now you say that I don't see reality. I'm virtually a stranger to you. I consider that rude."

"I said that you weren't a liar," Worf assured him.

"In one area."

"I can see that you are an honest man."

Damar blinked at him in surprise. "That's something, at least."

"But you are a Cardassian," Worf said. "I don't expect honesty from a Cardassian."

"Why not?" Damar asked. "There are plenty of honest Cardassians."

"Perhaps," Worf said with flat disbelief. "But your people are better known for deviousness than honesty. Truth is difficult to find in Cardassian words."

"Just because we know how to guard our tongues, and we're cautious in our speech doesn't mean we're all devious."

"You are not cautious in your speech," Worf pointed out.

Damar grimaced. "I would be better off in my society if I were. If you're so convinced that all Cardassians are devious, then why do you think I'm honest just by having this conversation with me?"

"Because you are direct. I've noticed that people who are that way are generally honest."

Damar nodded at that and reached for his glass. "Quark," he snapped.

Giving a slight jump at Damar's sharp tone, Quark turned away from another customer.

"What is it?" Quark said as he moved over to them.

"How many drinks has he had?" Damar gestured at Worf.

"You're the one talking to him," Quark pointed out. "Didn't you keep count?"

"I've had three," Worf said. "But I'm not playing this game with you, Glinn Damar."

"Fine," Damar said. "But I'm playing it with you. Quark, keep count."

"I have other customers to attend to," Quark told them. "I don't have time to stand here watching the two of you drink. Besides, I rather that you didn't play this game. A drunk Klingon and a drunk Cardassian together wouldn't make for a pleasant evening. I'd like to close up tonight with my bar still intact."

"Why?" Damar asked. "Is Worf a violent drunk?"

Quark gave him a knowing look. "No, but you are."

Damar scowled. "I can hold my alcohol."

"I'm sure you can," Quark said skeptically.

Damar's comm unit beeped, and he raised his wrist to his mouth. "Glinn Damar," he said into the unit in his cuff.

Dukat's voice came over the comm unit. "Report to my office immediately."

"Yes, sir," Damar replied then gulped down the last of the kanar in his glass. He rose from his stool. "Don't drink until I get back."

Worf frowned. "I told you I'm not going to get into a drinking contest with you."

"Commander Worf, what's wrong with an honorable contest between two honest men?"

"You and I cannot have an honorable contest," Worf rejoined, "because you are not capable of being honorable."

Rage roared through Damar, adding fire to the burning kanar in his stomach. "I have had enough of your insults, you uncivilized Mak'Dar!"

That was the worst Klingon insult that Damar knew, and it had the desired effect. Rage flashing in his eyes, Worf stood, tense and ready to fight. Quark suddenly sprang between them.

"I knew this wasn't a good idea," Quark said, holding his hands against Damar's and Worf's chests.

"It was your idea," Damar growled as he glared over Quark's head at Worf.

"It was only a comment," Quark defended. "You're the one who made it into an idea and a bad one at that. Now the two of you back away. There's no fighting in my bar."

"Then we will go to a holo-suite," Worf declared, "and settle this in honorable combat."

Damar sized up Worf and realized how foolish he was being. He couldn't fight the Klingon and expect to win. Not in his current physical condition. He may not be able to best Worf physically, but he knew there were other ways to win against Worf. He stepped away from Quark's hand.

"Can't," he said. "Cease-fire."

Worf glared at him in heated disgust. "So, you are a coward, then."

"Commander, I have to fight Klingons every day of my life," Damar snarled, struggling to hold back his temper. "I don't want to do it in my off-duties hours. Besides, as long as you're wearing that uniform, you're my ally. It wouldn't be a good idea for me to kill one of my allies."

"You would prefer to live with dishonor than to have the courage to face me in combat."

"I prefer a more civilized means of proving my honor. It wouldn't be a fair contest for you if I challenged you to a debate, as we would do in Cardassia, but we both excel at drinking. So I suggest that we settle this man to man, drink to drink. That's my challenge. Do you accept it?"

Worf looked none too pleased but he nodded. "Very well."

"Good. I'll be back shortly."

"I'll be here," Worf promised. "And Glinn Damar."

"Yes?"

Worf gave him a shrewd look. "You are more duplicitous than you let on."

"Am I?" Damar asked innocently.

"You have manipulated me into this like a master."

"You flatter me, Commander. However, it really wasn't that hard."

Damar hurried away before Worf figured out that he had just been insulted. The Klingon was smarter than he looked. A thing, he supposed, that they had in common.

Damar regretted that he had kept Dukat waiting. Undoubtedly he would get an earful from the Gul about it. Rushing through the Promenade, he made his way to the turbolift and up to the docking ring where the Bird of Prey had docked with the space station.

Stepping onto the Klingon bucket, he immediately felt the grim pall that had pervaded the ship as of late. For the sake of morale, he moved through the corridors with a confident expression on his face, his head up and his back straight. He wondered if it did any good to perpetuate that charade. The crewmen he passed all seemed worn out and bleak. Their long months of nearly futile fighting, the fears of the future of their people, and their constant hunger had dragged them down.

Damar understood. He felt the same, yet he continually struggled not to allow himself to be dragged down as well. They all had to continue to keep faith. If the crew saw that he still had it, then they may be inspired to maintain their faith as well.

As he entered Dukat's office, he saw what he had expected. Dukat in a foul mood.

"I apologize, sir, for keeping you waiting," Damar said the moment he stepped into Dukat's office.

Rising from his desk, Dukat shook his head. "Glinn Damar, I am very disappointed with the performance of this crew. You are my Executive Officer. You're supposed to be setting a good example for the rest."

"Yes, sir," Damar said, hearing the strain of holding back his annoyance in his voice. He certainly didn't deserve this kind of dressing down for just making the Gul wait a minute or two.

Dukat stepped around the desk and gave him a close study. "Speaking of setting a good example, have you been drinking?"

"I had a few glasses of kanar at the bar," Damar said. "I'm off-duty."

"A good Cardassian soldier is never off-duty."

"True, sir."

"Far be it from me to begrudge you a glass or two of kanar when you can get it. Such times are rare for us lately. But it seems to me that whenever we're in a space port such as this one, you spend your ration chips on kanar rather than on food."

Damar frowned at him. He had no idea that Dukat paid such close attention to his habits.

"Now, have you eaten this evening?" Dukat asked.

"Sir, I don't think that you need to . . ."

"I asked you a question, Damar. I only ask because I'm concerned about you. Don't think that just because we can refill our food stocks here that I'm able to stop rationing our supplies. Soon enough, rationing will be behind us but for now, we all must endure for a little while longer. Now, answer my question."

"I ate earlier today," Damar said. The talk of food alerted his stomach that it was empty. It began to complain about that fact rather incessantly. Damar ignored it. He was used to hunger.

"At what time?"

"10 hundred hours."

"That was over ten hours ago. You're planning on spending your evening ration chip on kanar."

Damar had in fact planned on doing that, to the displeasure of his stomach. "With due respect, sir, but how I plan on spending my ration chip on the station isn't your concern."

"You are wrong and out of line," Dukat said sternly. "The health of this crew is my concern, and that includes your health, Damar. I depend on you and so does the rest of this crew. You're a fine officer, and you set a good example with your behavior in all other areas except this one. We still have days of fighting ahead of us. You need to do everything that you can to keep up your strength."

"Yes, sir," Damar replied. "I appreciate your concern. But, at this point, I don't have a choice."

"True, you don't have a choice if I order you to eat tonight and not drink."

An order he'd have to obey if he couldn't talk Dukat out of it. "Sir, I challenged a Klingon."

Dukat brightened at this. "Even in your off-duty hours, you can't resist fighting our enemies. Very good."

"He's not really our enemy. He's Commander Worf."

"Ah, yes. Sisko's token Klingon. Did you goad him into fighting with you by insulting his honor?"

"No, he insulted my honor," Damar said.

Dukat blinked at him. "Your honor. I see."

"He insulted the honor of the Cardassian race, sir. I can't let him get away with that."

"Certainly not," Dukat approved. "What kind of contest did you challenge him to? I hope not bat'leths. You still need improvement with that weapon, though I imagine that fighting with Worf would give you some necessary practice."

"Yes, sir. But we're not fighting. I challenged him to an honorable . . . drinking contest."

Dukat laughed. "An honorable drinking contest? I'm sure you'd have him under the table."

"I will, sir," Damar pledged. "But I'll have to spend my evening ration chip to do it."

"I don't approve of this, Damar. For one thing, you're going to lose on an empty stomach. For another, it isn't healthy for you to chose to drink rather than to eat. You know the value of food. You know that you're fortunate to have what you do."

"I do know that, sir. And I'm appreciative that you provide for us. But I gave the challenge. I can't back out of it now. That Klingon has already called me a coward."

"That Klingon doesn't know you very well, then."

Damar straightened. He knew a compliment when he heard one. "No, sir. He doesn't."

"You have much to defend, even though I know that this is just an excuse to drink."

"Sir, you said it yourself. There's nothing wrong with a few glasses of kanar."

"No, if that's all you limit yourself to. The problem is that you generally don't when you have the chance. I can't condone excessive drinking."

"No, sir. You shouldn't."

"But, in this case, I suppose that I'll have to. After all, the honor of the Cardassian race is at stake."

Seeming to be amused by that, Dukat slipped his hand into his uniform and drew out a ration chip. He handed it to Damar.

"You're going to eat before you do this," Dukat told him sternly. "I made a vow to this crew that no matter what, no matter how difficult it is to find food, and no matter how much the Klingons cut us off from our supply colonies, I'm not going to allow anyone to go hungry. I mean that, Damar. Cardassia's days of starvation are coming to an end."

"I live for the day, sir," he replied, stirred by Dukat's nobility.

"It will come soon," Dukat assured him. "Now. We have another matter to discuss. I know that we were scheduled to be here for three days but, unfortunately, we'll have to leave earlier than expected. Since you've gotten yourself into this contest, I'll allow you the night off. However, I expect this ship to be ready for our departure tomorrow afternoon."

Damar sagged a bit at that. They had all looked forward to three days on the station and away from the Klingon ship. The crew was going to be highly displeased. As displeased as himself.

"Why so soon, sir?" he asked.

"I'm expected at Erdelius in two days," Dukat told him.

"Expected by whom?"

Dukat didn't answer him but gave him a knowing look. Damar scowled.

"The Dominion," he said flatly.

"It's for the best, Damar. Have faith in me."

"I do, sir," he sincerely assured Dukat.

"And I have faith in you," Dukat told him. "I know that you won't discuss this with others. I have faith in you to keep your promise to me."

"I don't know anything that I could discuss," Damar said with barely held back frustration, "but I'll keep my word. What do they want with us? What are you . . ."

"All in good time, Damar." Dukat clapped his arm in reassurance.

Damar ground his teeth at that. For over two months, Dukat had been conducting some kind of negotiation with the Dominion, but he refused to give Damar any details about it. Curiosity constantly ate at him. Curiosity and dread.

"Sir, the Changelings have done nothing but cause trouble in the Alpha Quadrant. They aren't to be trusted."

"I'm well aware of that," Dukat said, as ever so self-assured. "Now, I want you to go to the Infirmary and get a shot of glexis."

"Glexis?" Damar asked, knowing full well what it was. Glexis neutralized the effect of alcohol in the bloodstream. "But shouldn't I have the shot after the contest?"

"I don't see any reason why you shouldn't take it beforehand," Dukat said coolly.

"But that would be cheating."

"It's a way to guarantee your victory."

"Sir, my victory is already guaranteed. Commander Worf doesn't stand a chance against me. But this contest is over honor. I have to uphold the honor of Cardassia."

"By drinking a Klingon under the table," Dukat chuckled.

"Honorably, sir."

Dukat gave him a strange look, as though he thought Damar to be naïve. Annoyed by that attitude, Damar straightened, looking Dukat in the eye.

"There are some who would say," Dukat said slowly, "that Cardassians don't have honor."

"Then they don't know us very well," Damar declared.

"I suppose they don't," Dukat agreed.

"I will prove that we do."

"Very well. You may go."

"Thank you, sir," Damar replied then hurried out of the office.

Damar was relieved to be away from Dukat. The Gul wasn't taking the contest seriously enough, though if he had heard Worf's insults, he would be furious and would completely understand. Still, he didn't like that Dukat had wanted him to take glexis. That would ruin the whole point of the contest, besides the fact that it would take away the effect of the alcohol. What was the point of drinking if he couldn't feel the effect? Damar wanted to feel the effect. The slight intoxication from his drinks earlier had already started to fade.

It had been an exhausting month out in space, constantly fighting the Klingons, trying to get supply ships through their blockades, and receiving report after report of the increasing death toll on his homeworld. Through it all, Dukat proved himself to be worthy of faith and loyalty, but he was a stern and harsh taskmaster. Do well and Dukat was generous with his praise and reward. Do poorly and his punishments were unforgettable. Damar rarely did poorly but he felt the constant strain as the Executive Officer. He had to deal with the crew's problems and sagging morale while still seeing to his duties as the helmsman. On top of that, he had to assist their incompetent engineer with repairs.

After a month of all of that, all Damar really wanted to do was to shut down his mind in pleasant inebriation.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do that just yet. Entering the darkly lit bridge, Damar went to the engineering terminal to check on the status on their repairs. They were going well, but the repair schedule would have to be stepped up in order to be ready for departure. He issued the order then looked about and spied Traken at Ops.

"Traken," he said to the young man as he approached. He lowered his voice. "I have bad news from the Gul. We'll be departing tomorrow afternoon. Leave will need to be cancelled."

Traken's face fell. "I was looking forward to my leave time tomorrow."

"I understand," Damar said, feeling a bit guilty that now he had time off but the rest of the crew didn't. "How is the uploading of our supplies going?"

"Nearly completed."

"Good. I'll need you to keep an eye on engineering. I had to order a speed up in the repair schedule and you know how Lavek can be. Make sure he stays on schedule this evening."

"Yes, sir," Traken said. "But why aren't you going to be doing that?"

"I've been allowed to remain off-duty tonight," Damar confessed.

Envy flashed in Traken's eyes. "I see, sir."

"Something came up before Gul Dukat informed me of our earlier departure."

"Something came up," Traken said flatly. His tone neared the line of insubordination. Damar pushed back his annoyance over the young man's lack of respect. He understood how Traken felt. He considered Traken a friend, though their differences in rank sometimes got in the way.

"I issued a challenge to a Klingon," Damar told him.

Traken blinked at him. "You're going to do hand to hand combat with a Klingon? Are you sure you're up to that?"

"It's not combat," Damar shook his head. "It's a drinking contest.

At that, Traken chuckled. "A drinking contest. Only you would come up with something like that."

"It's over a matter of honor."

"Klingons and their honor," Traken scoffed. "They don't even know what honor is."

"I mean to teach this Klingon the error of his ways."

"Glinn Damar, that Klingon has no hope for victory over you. I should know. You've drunk me under the table often enough."

"That's because you don't know how to hold your kanar."

"No, but you're teaching me how to."

"You'll oversee the repairs?"

"Of course, sir. Good luck."

"Thank you."

Damar left the bridge and headed to the airlock. Stepping back onto the station, he shivered from the sudden change of temperature, from the warm ship to the cold station. The cold was unpleasant but he knew he'd warm up soon enough once he started drinking.

He rubbed the ration chip between his finger and thumb as he moved through the docking ring. It had been generous of Dukat to give him the extra ration, and Damar felt obligated to use it for food. He'd rather use it to buy a bottle of kanar for later. That would be worth going hungry for the night. He didn't have many opportunities to buy a small supply for himself. Such a thing was a luxury.

Dukat's concern about his drinking habits bothered him. It wasn't as though Damar drank all that often. He rarely had the chance. Only in space port and when he was able to buy a few bottles for himself. Though, he had to admit that when he did drink, he drank hard. Again, that was a luxury and one he enjoyed.

He arrived in Quark's and saw that the crowd in the bar had grown. Most of the people had gathered in knots around the counter or the dabo tables, and their talk and laughter filled bar. The noise of their laughter made him realize how much he had missed that sound. Laughter had become a rare thing on their ship. A rare thing for any Cardassian these days. Damar hadn't had a good laugh in a very long time.

He watched the gamblers around the Bajoran dado girl's table with envy. He liked to gamble but had nothing to gamble with. Being a part of a rogue crew meant that he didn't have a salary from the Cardassian government any longer. What trophies and resources they captured during their raids on the Klingons were sold for supplies and food.

His pay had become merely the rations Dukat provided, and he and the crew had lived in impoverished conditions for months. He didn't have any earnings to help support his wife and son on Cardassia Prime, and it grated on him that he couldn't provide for them. It grated on him that he so rarely saw them.

His time would come, he reminded himself. Dukat had promised that the days of starvation would be over. That meant prosperity on the horizon. Damar wished he knew how this prosperity would come to them. Would the Dominion bring them relief supplies, supplies the Federation couldn't or wouldn't provide? Would they aid Cardassia in rebuilding their fleet?

He didn't like the idea of having to depend on Changelings for aid. Not after all the trouble they had caused in the Alpha Quadrant. The Dominion was well known for meddling in the affairs of others. Damar certainly didn't want them meddling in the affairs of Cardassia. He knew reality, though it galled him to have to face the fact that Cardassia wasn't able to stand on its own. They needed help. They didn't have much choice but to swallow their pride and accept help no matter where it came from. Cardassia had to survive.

Dukat seemed to think that he could handle the Dominion. Damar knew he had to have faith in that.

 

Continue to Part Two

*****


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