An Honorable Contest Victoria Meredith Part Two Going to his place at the bar, Damar found no sign of Worf. It seemed unlikely that a Klingon would back out of accepting an honorable challenge. Damar looked about and spied the Klingon seated at a table with Doctor Bashir and a Trill woman. He hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of joining the others at the table with Worf. To do so uninvited would be poor manners, but Worf made no move to join him at the bar. Worf didn't seem to notice him at all, but suddenly the Trill woman did, and she gestured at him to join them. Feeling cautious, Damar moved through the crowd. Bad enough that he was alone and surrounded by aliens. Now he was expected to sit at a table with three of them. Better that, however, than drinking alone. Bashir gave him a friendly smile of welcome, as did the Trill. Worf gave him a grave nod, which Damar returned. "I apologize for keeping you waiting," Damar said. "I had duties to see to." "I understand," Worf said as Damar sat down across the table from him. "Are you prepared?" "Worf," the Trill frowned at him, "you can at least introduce us before you go into 'honorable combat'." "It is not honorable combat," Worf grumbled with annoyance. "It's merely an honorable contest. Glinn Damar agrees." "I do," Damar said and looked to the Trill. "That's me. Glinn Damar." The Trill struck out her hand. Damar stared at it for a moment before remembering the horizontal shaking of hands was a Starfleet custom. He grasped her hand with caution, unsure of their custom and uncomfortable with touching her, but the Trill gripped his hard, inviting him to do the same. "Lieutenant Commander Jazdia Dax," she told him with a warm smile. Though he found her plain with her smooth features, he thought that her spots were quite interesting and that her eyes were striking. Very bright and lively. "This is Dr. Julian Bashir," Dax gestured to Bashir as she let go of Damar's hand. "We've met," Damar said. "You have?" Dax asked. "I gave Dukat's crew a round of inoculations a few months ago," Bashir told her. "One of the benefits of being able to visit this station," Damar said. "You didn't consider it a benefit while I was inoculating you," Bashir said with a touch of humor. Damar remembered how the effects of the inoculations had made him irritable and unruly to the doctor. At least, Bashir didn't seem to hold his foul temper against him. "They were unpleasant," Damar admitted diplomatically, "but I understand the necessity. And we appreciate your generosity in providing them." "It wasn't entirely out of generosity that I had the crew inoculated," Bashir told him. "While I don't want your crew coming down with the diseases rampant in Cardassia, neither do I want you bringing them onboard this station." "A wise precaution." Worf looked him in the eye, seeming impatient but ready for the challenge. "We should begin." "Yes," Damar said. "I have to advise against this," Bashir said seriously. "This kind of drinking contest can be dangerous." "Dangerous how?" Worf asked. "Well, for one thing, there's a risk that one of you will go overboard and overdose." Damar snorted. "You can't overdose on alcohol." "Actually, you can. Drink too much too fast and you'll poison yourself. The results can be fatal. For another, a Klingon and a Cardassian drunk together can only lead to trouble." "We will contain ourselves," Worf pledged. "I'll make sure of it," Dax said. "And for another," Bashir continued, "the two of you will be extremely sorry in the morning." "Undoubtedly," Worf agreed. "True," Damar said. "We appreciate that you alert us to the dangers," Worf told Bashir, sounding rather glad that there was actual danger involved. Though Damar didn't see any. Except for that "you will be extremely sorry in the morning" bit. That was inevitable. "Doctor, do a medical scan on Glinn Damar," Worf told him. "Ensure that he has not ingested anything that would impede the effect of the alcohol." Insulted by this, Damar leapt to his feet. "What? Do you suspect me of trying to cheat?" Worf gave him a knowing look. "I know better than to trust a Cardassian." "You'll be sorry you said that," Damar growled. "Need I remind you that this is about honor?" "I though it was about drinking as much as you could without passing out," Dax said with dry humor. Damar glared at her. "It's about both." "Which is why you aren't cheating," Dax concluded with a smile. "Exactly," Damar said, relieved that she seemed to understand. "So, do your scan, Doctor. Prove to this Klingon that I actually have a sense of honor." "Very well." Bashir looked vaguely humored as he stood and pulled out a medical scanner. "For the sake of honor." Damar stood and glared at Worf as Bashir ran his scanner over him. "All clean," Bashir reported as he studied his data. Damar gave Worf a smug smile. "No unusual substances, though your blood alcohol level is at 0.02. You've already started this game." "We were interrupted," Damar told him. Frowning, Bashir gave an absent nod as he continued to study the data. He ran his scanner over Damar again, making Damar feel nervous. "Now I definitely don't advise you drinking the night away," Bashir said quite seriously. "Why?" Damar asked. Bashir glanced at the others, then placed his hand on Damar's arm. "Come with me." Wrenching his arm free, Damar glared at him. "Where?" "I just want to talk to you for a moment," Bashir said in a lowered voice. "I'm sure you'll appreciate the privacy." Bashir moved away to a quieter corner in the bar. Following him, Damar felt both curious and nervous about what the Doctor had seen in his scan. "When was the last time you ate?" Bashir asked him. "What business is that of yours?" Damar snapped. "It's my business as a doctor to be concerned about the health of people on this station. Including your health, Glinn Damar, while you're here. After all, you are our ally." That settled down Damar's defenses. "I ate this morning, though I'm going to eat again tonight." "And before this morning?" "Yesterday morning." "Just the one meal?" "That was before we arrived here and were able to supply ourselves." "How long have you been living on one meal a day?" Bashir asked, giving him a careful study. Damar looked away from him, annoyed that Bashir seemed to know the crew's weakness. "Glinn, I know how bad things are for Cardassia right now," Bashir said. "Is it just as bad for your crew?" "We have enough to survive," Damar muttered. "I can see that. Barely enough. You have malnutrition. Are you aware of that?" That startled him and he looked back to Bashir. "We've had a difficult month. The Klingons have blockaded our supply lines. We nearly ran out of everything and couldn't get more until we arrived here. We were on strict rations but now we'll be fine." "I hope so," Bashir said. "However, it's obvious that you've been suffering malnutrition for longer than just a month. I don't like the thought that Gul Dukat can't take care of the needs of his own crew." "Gul Dukat is doing all that he can," Damar defended. "If you know how bad things are for Cardassia, then you know how difficult it's been for him. But we still survive. That should give you confidence in him. He's promised that things will improve for us. I believe him." "I'm sure that they will," Bashir gave him a rather vacant smile. "You just have to endure for a little while longer." "We will," Damar assured him. "Now, I'm not your physician. I can't order you not to drink. But right now just isn't a good time to do this to yourself. You're not going to be able to hold up as long as you think you can." "Doctor, tomorrow we're scheduled to leave. I have to get back on that monstrous Bird of Prey and go out and fight. To be perfectly honest, I know I've been fortunate to have survived as long as I have. I may die in a fight tomorrow and I'll willingly do that to serve Cardassia. But tonight I'm free to do whatever I want. And what I want to do is relax and drink and get as much mileage out of Worf that I can get." "You can get mileage out of Worf without drinking." "You're not going to talk me out of this, Doctor. I've issued the challenge and Worf's accepted it. I need to prove to him that Cardassians have honor." "I really don't think you need to prove that. This fight of yours and Dukat's proves that enough." "I'm glad you see that, though I doubt Worf does." "If he doesn't, he should." "I still want to drink him under that table. He's far too sure of himself." "I think that you're the one who's a little overconfident," Bashir said dryly. "Tell you what. I'll go and prepare a compound, mostly vitamins, that'll boost your metabolism and get your blood chemistry back in line." "Worf will consider that cheating." "To make this a fair contest, you have the right to be in as good health as he is. Or at least, as good as I can make it." "It won't give me an unfair advantage?" Damar asked. Bashir gave him a searching look. "Do you want an unfair advantage?" The tone of Bashir's voice threw him. The doctor nearly sounded as though he was offering to help Damar to cheat. Shaking his head, Damar said, "I have to win this honorably." "Then the compound won't give you an unfair advantage," Bashir told him. "But, if you go without the compound, it will give Worf an unfair advantage." "Very well," Damar replied, still feeling uncertain about the doctor. "You did say that you're going to eat?" "Yes." "Have plenty of protein." "I will." "And a word of advice. Go slowly, Glinn Damar." Bashir left the bar and Damar went back to the table, feeling subdued. He knew how bad things had gotten on-board. He knew none of them were getting enough to eat. But hearing Bashir's diagnosis of malnutrition only increased his worry about his crew. They were surviving, but there were days when he had wondered if they were going to make it. Just arriving at Terok Nor gave them all a sense of relief, as though they had arrived at a mecca of safety and comforts. "Are you all right?" Dax asked him as he sat down at the table. "I'm fine," he told her then pulled out his ration chips. Two, one for a meal and one for a bottle of kanar. It dawned him how irresponsible he was being. He should use both for food. Once they left Terok Nor, the next chance to replenish their supplies may not come for another month. Or longer. No, Dukat promised that the suffering would end soon. Dukat would never promise such a thing if he couldn't fulfill it. Damar tossed both chips onto the table. "I need to eat first," Damar said. "Doctor's orders?" Dax asked. "Something like that." "Food will absorb the alcohol," Worf said. "That would make it an unfair contest." "Unless you ate as well," Dax told him. "I'm not hungry." "But I am," Damar insisted. "I don't think it's too much to ask that I'm allowed food." "Of course not," Dax assured him. "But to make this fair, you both should eat the same thing." "I was looking forward to some Larish Pie." "I don't care for Cardassian food," Worf said. "And the last time you had Cardassian food was when?" Damar challenged him. Worf squirmed a bit at that. "Never," he admitted. "Well, don't expect me to eat Klingon food. I've already had my fill." "Tell you what," Dax said, leaning in. "How about a nice roast beef sandwich with all the trimmings and a side of horana-browned potatoes?" Worf brightened at that. "That would be acceptable." "Roast beef?" Damar asked. "A kind of meat," Worf told him. "It's an Earth dish." Protein, Damar thought. "And trimmings?" "Lettuce, tomatoes, mustard," Dax said, though those items didn't mean much to him. "Horseradish," Worf said and Damar didn't like the knowing look in his eye. "You should have plenty of horseradish with it." "Worf, that's probably not a good idea," Dax admonished him. "Why not?" Damar asked. "Horseradish is pretty hot," Dax told him. "Some people don't like food that hot." "I like hot," Damar said. "As long as you don't turn this into a 'who can eat the hottest food' contest," Dax said then gestured to a waiter. A Ferengi scurried over and Dax gave him the order. Two roast beef sandwiches, all the trimmings, horana-browned potatoes, a plate of ble'ador for her, one bottle of kanar, one bottle of bloodwine, a pitcher of water and a Saurian Sunset. Damar smiled at that. "Are you going to join us in the contest?" Damar asked her. He'd much rather have Dax as a drinking partner than Worf. He was sorry that he didn't run into her first. "I'm not a fool," Dax chuckled. "I like feeling alive in the mornings. No, I'm the moderator. Unless you have a problem with that?" "I don't see why not." "Jadzia is my Par'Machkai," Worf confessed. "You should know that." "Par'MachKai?" Damar asked. The word sounded familiar, only because he had been forced to learn some Klingonese. 'Par' referred to love of some sort. "She's your lover." "She is more than that," Worf insisted. "To a Klingon, a Par'Machkai . . ." "Yes," Dax interrupted, reaching out to pat Worf's hand. "I'm his lover." "That makes you biased towards him," Damar shook his head. "In some things," Dax said. "But not in this. Don't worry. I'll keep the count fair and square." "Jadzia is an honorable woman," Worf said, his eyes going a bit warm as he looked into hers. "Besides," Dax went on, "there isn't anyone else around willing to sit and watch the two of you drink." "Meaning that I have no choice," Damar stated. "It's that or not do it at all. I already told Worf that I'd rather that he didn't do it all." He nodded. If she disapproved of Worf's action, it might make her less biased towards him. "Very well. I'll accept you as the moderator." "Lucky me." "As long as it isn't me," Bashir said as he came up to the table and went to Damar's side. "You did promise to help me out," Dax pointed out. "I will," Bashir replied, pressing a hypo-spray against Damar's neck. "Wait," Worf glared at Bashir. "What was that? What have you given him?" "Just something to even out the playing field," he assured Worf. "In what way?" Worf asked then studied Damar. "Is he ill? You were displeased with the result of your scan." "Glinn Damar will be fine," Bashir said. He moved around the table to take a seat next to Dax. Worf wasn't deterred. "What did he give you?" he demanded of Damar. "None of your business," Damar snapped, wanting the matter to be dropped. "He had a chemical imbalance, nothing more," Bashir said. "I corrected it." "Will it effect the contest?" Worf asked. "Worf, I just gave Damar a compound that will bring his health closer to your level. I think that's fair. Don't you?" "Then you are ill," Worf concluded, still looking at Damar. "I'm not ill," Damar insisted. "I'm fine and I'll be even better once I eat." "You know he's not doing anything to cheat, Worf," Dax said sternly. "Damar knows his honor is at stake." "That's right," Damar said then looked to Bashir. "Now. Scan Worf." "Klingons do not cheat," Worf said, affronted. "Don't they?" Damar asked dryly. "It is dishonorable." Damar snorted. "Give it up, Worf. I've seen plenty of evidence of Klingon dishonor this past year." "You insult my honor?" Worf growled. "When you don't know what the word means?" "I don't insult your honor," Damar said coldly. "I insult the honor of the Klingon race. A bunch of vicious hypocrites if there ever was one." "Hypocrites?" Worf thundered, rising to his feet. "Worf, sit down," Dax said in a warning tone. Worf ignored her and so did Damar. He rose to look Worf in the eye. "You heard me," he sneered. "And if you want to gain honor in my eyes, you'll have to prove that you aren't like the rest of your kind." "And when did I lose honor in your eyes?" Worf demanded, moving around the table. "Down, Worf," Dax insisted. "You never had it to begin with," Damar countered. Murder came into Worf's eyes, and he took a step closer to Damar. Head up, Damar stood his ground. "Great," Bashir muttered, rising to his feet. "And the drinking hasn't even started yet." "It's going to be a fun evening," Dax replied as she stood. "The two of you calm down and sit down, or this contest is over." "You dare," Worf said in a menacing tone, "to judge my honor without knowing who I am?" "Just as you dare to judge mine on the mere fact that I'm a Cardassian," Damar shot back. "That is a fair judgement and you are proving that by the minute." "And you have yet to prove to me that Klingons aren't dishonorable." "We have centuries of evidence of honor," Worf defended. "The Cardassians have five centuries of evidence of dishonor." "I don't know about centuries," Damar sneered. "I only know what I've seen this past year. The Klingons started a dishonorable, unprovoked war with Cardassia." "A war that is coming to an end with a cease fire that you don't have enough honor to recognize." "And the Klingons do? That cease-fire is merely an excuse for the Klingon Empire to hold onto our territories and choke off our supply lines. They've made a blockade around every supply route, and isolated our colonies from each other, leaving us completely without support. The Klingons are trying to force us into submission through starvation. What's so honorable about causing the deaths of millions of innocent people through hunger and disease?" The murder faded from Worf's eyes. Damar kept his icy glare on Worf, though he cursed himself. He shouldn't have revealed Cardassia's weaknesses in the heat of the moment. Though apparently everyone knew Cardassia's weaknesses. Bashir knew, and he probably didn't need his medical scanner to see that Damar and the rest of his crew had been a step away from starvation for months. All he had to do was to look at Damar's gaunt face and see how his uniform hung off of his body. Knowing that only fueled Damar's rage further. He hated that they knew. He hated that these people thought that Cardassians were weak. Worf's expression turned thoughtful as he kept his eyes locked on Damar's. "Why do you think," Worf asked in a quiet voice, "that I wear this uniform?" Damar blinked at him, his rage blowing out. His Starfleet uniform, not a Klingon officer's uniform. Worf didn't support what the Klingons were doing, and he proved that by continuing his duties on behalf of Starfleet. Damar realized that he was looking at honor in the face. "Why do you think," Damar asked, matching Worf's quiet tone, "that we're still fighting and ignoring the cease-fire?" Worf nodded. Damar saw that he understood. "No medical scan," Damar said. "It's not necessary." Moving back to his chair, he realized that Bashir had been standing beside him. Dax had taken a position next to Worf. Both looked relieved when Damar and Worf retook their seats. "Ready to hold me back, Doctor?" Damar asked lightly. "Ready to do something," Bashir said with equal lightness as he sat down. "You shouldn't worry," Damar assured him. "Worf and I are civilized men." "Exactly," Worf agreed from his side of the table. Dax battened down a laugh. "We'll see how 'civilized' you two are when you start drinking. I know what Worf is like when he's drunk, and I have a feeling that I know how you're going to be." "Really?" Damar asked. "What do you think I'll be like?" "If you can barely hold on to all that rage in you while you're sober, I can imagine how you are when you're drunk." "I can control my temper," Damar defended. "So, what's Worf like when he's drunk?" Dax smiled. "He gets maudlin." "I do not," Worf protested. "Sentimental," Dax continued. "Does he?" Damar grinned. "A sentimental Klingon. Now that's a thing I'm looking forward to seeing." Dax leaned in as though to share a secret. "They're all like that." "That isn't true," Worf insisted. "There's nothing wrong with being sentimental, Worf," Dax told him. "Sentiment is a weakness," Damar said. "I wouldn't go that far," Worf replied as the Ferengi waiter arrived with a large tray laden with food and drink. "As Jadzia said. There's nothing wrong with sentiment expressed in the appropriate manner at the appropriate time and place." Damar shook his head. "Sentiment is only something to be taken advantage of by others." The waiter placed Damar's food before him. It wasn't a plate but a platter entirely filled. The sandwich was immense. The thinly sliced reddish-brown meat staked well over an inch between two large slices of bread. Around the sandwich were piles of browned and crisped irregular slices of . . . Damar tried to remember what Dax called them. Potatoes. Whatever they were, they smelled good. The waiter set a glass and a bottle of kanar next to the platter, and Damar reached for the kanar. "Ah," Bashir said, thrusting out his hand. "Eat first." "They certainly serve generous portions here," Damar said, staring at the food. He couldn't imagine eating so much, though he wanted to. At one time he could have with no problem, but it had been a long time since he had seen so much food piled onto one plate. "Quark likes to maintain a good reputation," Dax said as she put her fork into her ble'ador. Worf grabbed his sandwich and took a huge bite, chewing a bit too heartily for Damar's sense of manners. Lifting half of the sandwich up, Damar bit into it. He chewed slowly, savoring his food as he had been taught. Fire bloomed in his mouth. Horseradish, they had called it. He liked it. It went well with the rest of the mixture of flavors of the sandwich. His stomach became satisfied when he swallowed. The more he ate, the better he began to feel. As they ate, Dax said, "Now. We're going to establish some rules for this contest. First, you can only take a drink every ten minutes." "Ten minutes?" Damar protested. "You have to pace yourselves," Bashir said. "Also, if you get to the point that you're not able to take a drink within the time frame, you lose." "The loser is the one passed out," Damar said. "Not the one too drunk to drink." "Two," Dax continued. "We are *not* going to talk about the war any more." "Agreed," Damar said. He didn't want to talk about the war anyway. He wanted to forget it for the night in drunken bliss. "Agreed," Worf said. "Three," Dax said. "After every drink, you're going to take a drink of water." "Water?" Worf sneered. "Why?" Damar asked. "To guard against dehydration," Bashir told them. "Especially you, Damar. You need plenty of water, and your hangover tomorrow won't be as bad." "Very well," he agreed. On his ship, water had to be rationed as strictly as food. He popped a potato in his mouth and immediately regretted it. It was soft and slightly mealy and rather bland. He swallowed, cleaned his mouth with a drink of water, then picked up another potato. It didn't matter how it tasted. Food was food. "What about the alcohol content of bloodwine?" Damar asked. "If this is going to be fair, it has to be the same as kanar." "It's comparable enough," Bashir told him. "And it has the same effect on Klingons that kanar has on Cardassians." "Any more rules?" Damar asked. "No. That's it," Dax said. "Well, I have one of my own," Damar looked Worf in the eye. "No singing." "What?" Worf protested. Unfortunately, his mouth was full of food, and Worf gave Damar a good look inside. The sight turned his stomach and he grimaced in disgust. "Damar, a Klingon can't drink without singing," Dax said with an amused smile. "I think it's a part of their genetic makeup," Bashir quipped. Damar sagged a bit at that. "Well, just don't do it loudly." Dax laughed. "You still have a lot to learn about Klingons." "I suppose this will further my education," Damar said, keeping his tone pleasant though he really didn't want to further his education about Klingons, especially if their music was involved in it. "Don't worry," Dax assured him. "Worf has a very good singing voice. It won't be that bad." Mercifully, Worf swallowed his food. "Cardassians do not sing when they drink?" "We engage in talk," Damar said. "Cardassians engage in talk when you drink," Dax chuckled. "And when you're sober and whenever you get a chance." "As natural as breathing," he nodded. He found himself becoming full even though half the sandwich still sat on the platter surrounded by some of the potatoes. The potatoes were foul but filling. If he ate any more, he'd be stuffed. Worf, he noticed, had cleaned his plate. Deciding to save the rest of his food for later, he put aside the platter and reached for the kanar bottle. It was already opened and partially empty. Damar realized that it was the same bottle he had ordered from Quark earlier. Since it was no longer full, he wondered if he had enough to last until Worf passed out. He wasn't going to be able to buy another one. "No more delays," Damar said, pouring himself a drink. "Let us begin," Worf opened his bottle and poured a measure of the wine into his tankard. He lifted the tankard as though to make a toast. Damar lifted his, the dark brown kanar gleaming in the clear glass. Worf hesitated as though not sure what to say. Damar didn't know either. What toast could he possibly give to a Klingon, even a Klingon ally? "To future peace," Worf finally said. Damar smiled. That was something to drink to, though he hadn't expected such a sentiment from a Klingon. Clearly, Worf was unique among his kind. "To future peace." Picking up her Saurian Sunset, Dax said, "To future peace." They all looked at Bashir who had been staring off with a preoccupied expression on his face. He gave a slight start as though suddenly realizing that he was supposed to be joining in. He grabbed a water glass and lifted it up. "Yes," he said with a smile and a nod. They drank together, Damar and Worf emptying their glasses in a quick swallow. "We forgot to decide on the wager," Dax suddenly gasped. "This is not about wagering," Worf admonished her then looked at Damar. "Jadzia has a weakness for gambling." "I do not," Dax said with annoyance. "But putting down a bet on which of you will win will spice things up." Damar laughed. "As though a Cardassian and a Klingon getting drunk together isn't spicy enough." "My bet is on Worf," Dax smiled at him. "Good bet," Worf approved. "Wait. Commander, you're the moderator," Damar said. "You supposed to be unbiased." Dax grimaced. "You're right." "Don't worry, Worf," Bashir said pleasantly as he rose. "I'll bet on you. Sorry, Damar." "Just don't bet too much," Damar told him, "so that you won't lose too much." "I'll keep that in mind," Bashir said. "I'll have Quark arrange the betting. I'm sure there are others interested in placing down a wager." As Bashir walked away, Dax turned to Damar. "So, care to put down a wager on yourself?" Damar frowned. He didn't have anything to wager with. Not that he was going to tell her that. "I agree with Worf. This isn't about wagering." "Ah, come on. Cardassians love to gamble, and you're so sure that you're going to win." "I am going to win," Damar said. "Are the ten minutes up yet?" "You have a few more minutes. How about winner buys the loser a case of his favorite poison." "Poison?" "She means drink," Worf said. "If I win, you must provide me with a case of bloodwine. And if you win, I'll provide you with a case of kanar." Having a case of kanar would be good. The whole crew would like that. Though Damar was sure that he'd win, he knew that if he lost, he'd never be able to cover a case of bloodwine. That kind of pressure would be added incentive to win. "Very well," Damar said and his nerves tensed as he spoke. "I accept the bet." Reaching out, he grabbed the bottle and poured a drink. "It's not time yet," Dax said. "If we stick to this ten minute rule, this is going to be a very long night. I'm tired of waiting." Damar downed his drink, causing Worf to hurriedly fill his tankard and drink as well. "All right," Dax said with annoyance, "but you can't drink again for another ten minutes." Feeling defiant, Damar poured another drink and tossed it down. Worf glared at him. "You agreed to the rules," Worf grumbled as he poured himself a drink. "I agreed to the other rules. But not that one. I don't like it and I don't agree to it." "But I agree to it," Worf argued. "If this is going to be a fair contest, then we have to abide by the rules together." "I didn't even want rules," Damar growled. "I live with rules my entire life. Tonight, no rules." "You have to pace yourself," Dax insisted. "Or this could be a short night with you in the Infirmary." "I know how to pace my drinking," Damar grumbled. "Does Worf lack the same self-control?" "Certainly not," Worf countered then drained his glass. "However, you taking three drinks in a row isn't self-control. We will wait ten more minutes before drinking again." Feeling slightly intoxicated from the drinks, Damar nodded with reluctance. He didn't want just slight intoxication. Sitting back in his chair, he noticed a Ferengi waiter approach the table. The Ferengi started to clear the plates. When he took Damar's platter, Damar shot out his hand and grabbed the Ferengi by the arm. The Ferengi squealed in pain. "What do you think you're doing?" Damar snapped and pointed to the half sandwich. "That's mine." "I'm sorry," the Ferengi whimpered, trying to free himself from Damar's grip. "I'm sorry. I thought you were finished with it." "Let him go, Damar," Dax ordered, anger hard in her voice. "Why would you think I'm finished with it," Damar snarled as he let the Ferengi go, "when there's still food on the plate?" "I'm sorry," the Ferengi said again, clearly terrified by Damar's belligerence as he put the platter back down on the table. "I thought you didn't want it any more." "You thought wrong." "I did. I did," the Ferengi cowered away from him. "He was just trying to do his job," Dax snapped at Damar. "There's no reason for your hostility," Worf admonished him. "I, too, had thought you were finished with your meal." "I'm going to eat the rest later," Damar said. "Well, tell you what," Dax said, looking very displeased with him. "Why don't you let the waiter take the food and wrap it up for you. He can put it in Quark's refrigeration unit so you can get it later." "I can do that," the Ferengi assured him. "I can save it for you. Leaving it out will just make it spoil, anyway." "That's a good point," Damar nodded. "I would appreciate it if you saved it for me." The Ferengi relaxed at bit at Damar's more reasonable tone. Hesitantly, he picked up the platter, and now that it was safe to do so, scurried away with it. Worf and Dax still looked at Damar with disapproval. He supposed that he had been rude but that Ferengi had been ruder still. After all, he had spent an entire ration chip on that food. He wasn't about to see it wasted. The others, with their pampered lives of full stomachs and rich luxuries, wouldn't understand. Damar grabbed his bottle. "Ten minutes haven't passed yet," Dax reminded him. Damar ignored her and poured a drink. He gulped it down. "Your turn," he said to Worf. Worf shook his head. "It is not honorable to ignore the rules of this contest just as it is not honorable to bully a Ferengi." Damar opened his mouth to defend himself then clamped it shut. No, these people wouldn't understand at all. "I can bully whomever I please," he grumbled. "Until you bully the wrong person," Dax said pointedly, "and you learn your lesson." As she said this, Damar saw Quark rushing up to him, anger snapping in his large eyes. The Ferengi stopped in front of him and shoved his finger in Damar's face. "If you manhandle one of my employees again," Quark lectured in a menacing tone, "you won't be welcomed in this establishment ever again." "I thought he was stealing from me," Damar defended. "I admit that I might have overreacted." "And lost your temper," Dax snipped. "Which you have such good control over." Damar glared at her, deciding he didn't like her after all. "My employees don't steal," Quark insisted. "It's bad for business. If I knew that you had more than these useless ration chips, I'd allow poor Groik to sue you for bodily harm and emotional damages." Damar snorted. "I didn't cause him bodily harm and emotional damage." "Oh, no? He's very shaken and refuses to wait on this table again while you're here. He's a very sensitive person. And you should see the size of the bruise on Groik's arm. Why, he can barely lift up a tray of orders." "The least you could do," Dax lectured Damar, "is to leave Groik a generous tip." "With what?" Damar snapped at her. Quark gave a disgusted shake of his head but Dax's superior attitude faded at that. She looked at him for a moment then gave a slow nod. "We've been insensitive. I'm sorry." "I don't need your pity," Damar growled, feeling his temper, his rage flare up again. "No, you don't," Dax agreed. "You only need understanding." At her tone, gentle but not too much, sympathetic but not false, his temper eased. Then guilt kicked in. Here he was trying to prove he was an honorable man while bullying a little Ferengi and being dishonest with Worf. Damar felt like a fraud. Maybe he didn't have any honor after all. An even worse realization was that he knew that he'd have to swallow his pride. That was an awfully big swallow. Quark turned to Dax. "I assume that you're going to make sure that these two don't go for each other's throats?" "I'll do my best," Dax assured him. "Good," Quark said then gave both Damar and Worf a hard glare. "Because there's no fighting in my bar." "We are not going to fight," Worf said. "We just want to drink and to be left alone," Damar said. "That waiter save my sandwich for me?" Quark rolled his eyes. "Yes, we saved it for you. Such trouble over half a sandwich." "How's the wagering going?" Dax asked. "Pretty well. Fortunately, people will gamble on anything. All the money's on Worf, so I suppose that I'll have to hope that this Cardassian wins if I want to see some profit." "Count on it, Quark," Damar said confidently. "We'll see," Quark said with doubt. "And keep it quiet over here." With that last admonition, Quark hurried away. The talk of wagering only reminded Damar about having to swallow his pride. He wasn't about to apologize for being rude to the waiter. After all, all he had done was hold the Ferengi's arm and speak a little too roughly to him. Everyone acted like that had been some terrible, cruel thing. But he knew that he'd have to confess that he hadn't been honest in his wager with Worf. Battening down his pride, Damar looked to him. "You think that I'm honest," Damar said as earnestly as he could. "But I deceived you. I can't cover our wager. We'll have to cancel it." "Why did you lie about it?" Worf demanded. "I didn't lie," Damar said peevishly. "I just concealed the truth. I know I'm going to win this contest, and having that case of kanar would make my crew happy. But I agreed to the wager under false pretenses." "I should have expected such a thing from a Cardassian," Worf grumbled with a shake of his head. "At least Damar is willing to come clean about it," Dax pointed out, though she sounded annoyed with him as well. "Better now than when he loses." "I'm not going to lose," Damar insisted. "Have you taken your drink yet?" "I will do so now," Worf replied and quaffed his wine. Damar poured another. "No," Worf insisted. "We'll stick to the rules." Ignoring him, Damar gulped down the kanar. With the drink, his intoxication grew. Between the food and the kanar, Damar felt better than he had for a long time. He sat back in his chair, relaxed. "Your turn," he said to Worf. "Water, Damar," Dax reminded him. Obeying her, he took a drink from the water glass. "I will wait ten minutes before my next drink," Worf said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You will need to wait as well." "He can be a stickler for rules," Dax said, giving Worf a fond look. "Cardassians usually are, too." "Rules are necessary," Damar agreed. "They bring order. But I'm off-duty, enjoying my first night way from that monstrous Klingon bucket in over a month. I want to relax. I don't want to feel constrained by rules." "Well, I can't blame you for that. Just pace yourself and don't go so fast that Worf can't keep up." "I can keep up to any pace he sets," Worf defended. "Good," Damar said. "Then drink. Let's get on with it." "Very well," Worf grumbled and poured another drink. After he drank, Damar helped himself to another. "How many so far?" he asked Dax. "Six for you, five for Worf." "Keep up, Worf," Damar insisted. "Slow down, Damar," Worf countered as he poured more bloodwine into his glass. "We have all night." "You're right. We do," Damar conceded as he took a drink of water.   Continue to Part Three ***** Back to Archive Back to WDFA