An Honorable Contest - Part Six Victoria Meredith Part Six The oblivion didn't last long. Far too soon, his chronometer awakened him. Damar stirred, opening his eyes. The moment he did, he immediately wished for unconsciousness again. His head pounded fiercely, his nauseated stomach burned and every muscle and every joint ached. Lying in the bed, he couldn't find the strength to get up, but he knew that he had to be on duty soon. His stomach propelled him up. It gave a violent lurch that had Damar tumbling out of the bed, out of his quarters and into the waste extraction room. He retched into the bowl but brought up little more than bile. The taste made him gag. His head and stomach giving him no mercy, he lurched to the shower room. Leaning against the wall of the shower stall, he let the sonics pulse over his body. He tried to focus and remember what had happened last night. He didn't remember leaving Quark's and going back to his quarters. He didn't remember undressing himself and getting into bed. He couldn't remember. Did he win or did he lose? Too much was lost in his foggy mind. Cardassians had better memories than any race in the galaxy barring the Vulcans, but not even his memory had been safe from the effects of all that kanar. He replayed the events back from the beginning of the night. Going into Quark's, sitting down with Dax and Worf and Bashir. Bashir. There was something about that. Damar tried to grab hold of the memory but it slipped away from him. He remembered the meal, and that made him remember that there was a half of a sandwich waiting for him at Quark's. He'd have to go and get the food before they left the station. Not that he was hungry now, but he could eat it later when he felt up to it. What else? Ziyal's face floated in his mind and he grimaced, remembering what had happened. He had seen that she was being corrupted on the station. Kira was influencing her with her Bajoran ways. Kira was spreading lies about Dukat. His stomach churning at that thought, Damar felt hatred stir within him. He knew Bajorans couldn't be trusted. He stumbled back to his small quarters, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to function well feeling so sick and drained of energy. They didn't have a physician in their crew, though Merindin and Projar made decent medics. The best choice, Damar knew, was to see Dr. Bashir if he wanted the best treatment available to him. He wished he could remember what it was about Bashir. There had been something odd, he remembered that, but not what the something was. Damar supposed that it was just a feeling that he had for some reason. Finding his uniform folded neatly on top of his footlocker, he picked it up then wrinkled his nose. The uniform reeked. He'd have to take care of that later. Setting it aside, he opened his footlocker and pulled out his only other uniform. This one was more threadbare than the other one, but he didn't have much choice. The uniform was clean, so at least he wouldn't be adding to the noxious odors that had always pervaded the bucket. They never could get rid of the stench of Klingon. Bird of Prey, Damar thought as he dressed himself. He had to smile at that, remembering how he had annoyed Worf by continually calling it what he always called it, the monstrous Klingon bucket. He supposed that the night hadn't really gone all that badly. At least he had been able to run a few loops around Worf and force him to acknowledge Damar's courage and honor. That had been the whole point to Damar, whether or not he had won the contest. Noticing that he had a bit of time before he had to report to duty, he decided to go back onto the station and see Dr. Bashir. Usually he considered himself on duty the moment he put his uniform on in the morning. But with his aching head and stomach, Damar knew it would be better to get treatment than to try to go straight to work. Bashir would make him feel better. Leaving the Klingon bucket, Damar made his way through the docking ring and into a turbo-lift. He found himself sharing the turbo-lift with a Starfleet officer. She smiled pleasantly at him, and he gave her a nod, knowing that he didn't look very friendly. Not with the pinched scowl of pain on his face. The lift took them to the Promenade, and the brightness of the lighting scalded Damar's already burning eyes. He hurried to the Infirmary only to find it even brighter than the Promenade. As he entered the Infirmary, a Bajoran nurse looked up from a computer monitor. "Can I help you?" she asked with careful neutrality as she stood. "Is Dr. Bashir available?" he asked with equal neutrality. "I think he is," she said. "One moment." "Thank you," he replied as she hurried away. Damar waited, keeping his head down against the light. The light only made his headache more piercing. Bashir came out of another room. "Dr. Bashir," Damar greeted him. "Ah, Glinn Damar," Bashir said a bit coldly as he looked Damar over. "Why am I not surprised to see you? I suppose Commander Worf will be arriving at any moment." "Probably so." "What can I do for you?" Damar frowned at him. "Isn't it obvious? I assume you know how to treat a hangover." "I do," Bashir nodded then just stood there. "Then treat me," Damar demanded. "Gul Dukat wants you to suffer the consequences of your actions." "Dukat said this to you?" "Last night." Damar shook his head. Human doctors were generally known to be compassionate. They took pride in helping any patient, regardless of who that patient was. They didn't turn down anyone for treatment. Damar remembered Bashir from when he had given the crew inoculations months ago. He had seemed a bit smug and distant, as he was now, but still rather good-hearted. Damar didn't understand why Bashir wasn't being that way now. "Doctor, I'm not going to be able to effectively see to my duties like this," Damar argued. "Gul Dukat depends on me to function well. We may go out and get into a battle this afternoon. I have to be in form." "You should have thought of that before you got into that contest." Glaring at him, Damar snarled, "Are you going to treat me or not?" "Very well," Bashir gave an annoyed sigh. "I suppose that you've suffered enough. Have a seat. Let's take a look at you." Damar sat down on an examining table. Looking very irritated that he had to do this, Bashir ran his medical scanner over his body. His irritation irritated Damar. Well, the doctor was a human, after all. Humans hated Cardassians. He shouldn't be expecting kindness from one of them. Turning off his scanner, Bashir went to his medical replicator and punched in an order. A hypospray appeared in the alcove. Bashir picked the hypospray up and carried it to Damar. As the doctor pressed the hypospray against his neck, Damar heard a sharp hiss. Moments later, his headache began to ease and his stomach started to settle down. "Better?" Bashir asked him as though he actually cared. "Much." "Good," Bashir said, going back to the replicator. "That contest didn't do your blood chemistry a bit of good." Retrieving another hypospray from the replicator, Bashir came to him and pressed it against Damar's neck. "Another compound?" Damar asked. "Like the one I gave you last night," Bashir said. "After all, we do have to keep up the health of Gul Dukat's most loyal officer." That surprised Damar, making him feel proud for the acknowledgement of his loyalty. "I appreciate that, Doctor." Bashir gave him a cool study. "He says that you're useful." Not sure what he meant by that, Damar replied, "I give the best service I can to Gul Dukat and Cardassia." "I'm sure that you do," Bashir smiled. "Well, I hope that you've learned your lesson from last night." "I have," Damar assured him. "Good." "No more trying to drink two bottles of kanar in one evening. I'll stick to just one bottle." Bashir blinked at him. "Well, I suppose that's a start," he said, not sounding certain if that was true or not. "Thank you for your aid," Damar said as he stood from the examining table. "My pleasure. I'm sure that we'll be seeing each other again soon." "Perhaps so," Damar replied. He turned to leave then stopped and looked back at Bashir. He felt embarrassed that he had to ask this, but he had to know. "Doctor, I don't remember," he said. "Did I win or lose last night?" "You won. Commander Worf passed out well before you did." Damar smiled. "Good." "You proved your honor to him. Though I'm not sure how drinking to the point of incoherence proves honor." "To be honest, Doctor, I don't know either. I suppose the honor isn't that I won but how I won." "By not cheating." "Exactly." "I see," Bashir nodded with a bland smile, though Damar wondered if he actually understood. Damar left the Infirmary, heading down the Promenade towards Quark's. Still early, few people were about, but he was glad to see that Quark's was open. He entered the bar to see Quark himself arranging glasses on the shelves behind the bar. "Quark," he said, getting the Ferengi's attention. Startled, Quark turned then gave him a study. "Well, you look alive," Quark said. "Sort of." Damar slumped down onto a barstool. "You're not looking for a morning eye-opener, are you?" Quark asked as though he hoped this wasn't the case. Damar watched him move to the replicator and punch in an order. "No," he said. "I just needed to get something. Last night . . ." Damar stopped as Quark set down a steaming mug of fish juice in front of him. "I didn't order this," he said. "No, but it looks like you could use it. On the house." "On the house? Why?" Quark shrugged. "I made a nice profit off you last night. Since you're suffering for it, I figured that it was the least that I could do." "That sounds fair," Damar agreed and sipped at the juice. "I came in here for the sandwich." "The sandwich, of course," Quark rolled his eyes. "How could I have forgotten that you'd want your precious sandwich? I'll get it." As Quark moved away from the bar, Damar smiled to himself. He realized that with the fish juice and the sandwich, he was set for the day. When Quark came back and set the wrapped sandwich in front of him, Damar slapped down his two ration chips of the day. "Two bottles of kanar," he ordered. "Are you sure you don't want to spend those on food?" Quark asked him. "No," Damar said and hoisted the mug of hot fish juice. "This is fine. It's perfect." "All right," Quark said and went to retrieve the bottles. Movement caught Damar's eye, and he looked to the door of the bar to see Worf and Dax entering. Worf moved very slowly. He sympathized entirely. "Good morning," Dax said too brightly. "Morning," Damar replied as Worf sat down next to him. Quark returned with the bottles, setting them down in front of Damar. He looked to Worf. "What can I get you, Commander?" he asked. "Raktajino," Worf mumbled. "That's going to be for later," Dax said, pointing the bottles. "After you leave, right?" "Right," Damar assured her. "I don't plan on drinking it all at once." "Good," Dax replied. "Did you go see Doctor Bashir?" Damar asked Worf then took a drink of the fish juice. "A minute ago," Worf nodded. "He helped." "He seemed to be in a bad mood." "Was he?" Dax asked. "He didn't seem that way to us." "Though he did give me a lecture on excessive drinking," Worf told him, not sounding too pleased by that. "As if I was ever going to do this again." "No, me neither," Damar said. "I learned my lesson last night." "I did as well. Never try to match drink for drink with a Cardassian." "Exactly," Damar chuckled. "Because if I do," Worf grumbled, though there was humor in his dark eyes, "I will have to listen to him talk my ear off the entire night." "I wasn't that bad. I think. Was I?" "You couldn't help it," Dax told him as she leaned against the bar. "You were drunk and you're a Cardassian." "So, you two keep telling me," Damar grumbled. "I'm a Cardassian so that gives you all kinds of reasons to insult me. Don't think that I have forgotten all your insults and slurs against me last night." "As I have not forgotten yours," Worf said. "At least you won," Dax pointed out. "Last night didn't turn out all that bad for you." "I won," Damar nodded. "Though I don't remember winning." "Takes the fun out it, doesn't it," Dax said with a shake of her head. "No thrill of victory at the end of a hard fought contest. Just a hangover for your reward." "And a cup of fish juice from Quark," Damar said, lifting the mug then taking a drink. Dax grimaced. "And you gained honor in my eyes," Worf assured him. Damar chuckled. "There is that, of course. And a case of kanar, if you recall." "I have not forgotten," Worf assured him. "It will be brought to your ship today." "Excellent. My crew will appreciate it." "I'll get your sash back to you as well," Dax told him. "I have it in my quarters." "No," Damar said slowly as he made up his mind about this. "I gave that up when I made the wager. I don't need it. Keep it as a gift in thanks for being our moderator. I know we were a lot to have to put with last night." "That is not an appropriate gift," Worf said with disapproval. "I don't have anything else to give. Besides, you said that it was an affront to you to see me wear it. I have no desire to be an affront to you." Worf seemed taken aback by that. "You continue to gain honor in my eyes, Glinn Damar." "Thank you. Commander, I really don't want it anymore. Besides, wearing it only looks like I'm trying to pretend to be a Klingon." Dax laughed at that. "Oh, you certainly don't want to be mistaken for a Klingon." "If you accept the sash," Worf said to her. "You should give the insignias to the families of the Houses so that they can burn them in the Ravak'dajar ritual." "Ravak'dajar ritual?" Damar asked, not liking the idea that his trophies would be burned. "It's a ritual for the fallen in battle when their bodies aren't recovered," Dax told him. "That would be the best thing to do with them." Damar scowled. He had given the sash away so he shouldn't care what Dax did with it. Still, those insignias represented hard won fights. It was an insult that she just wanted to burn them. An insult and a waste. "It is meant to be a gift," Damar said, his temper rising. "Do you have such little respect for me that you would just burn a gift I've given you?" Dax seemed to consider that. Damar braced himself for another insult. "What makes you think that I have any respect for you?" Dax asked. Damar ground his teeth, frustrated that his prediction had come to pass. "I respect your fight against the Klingons and that's it. You gave the sash away to me, and that gives me the right to do whatever I want with it, including burning it." "I gave it away out of respect for Worf. It was an affront to him that I owned it. Now you are an affront to me by not respecting what that sash means to me. I fought hard and nearly lost my life and those insignias prove that." "The families of the warriors you killed in battle," Worf told him, "will be pleased to know that they fought fiercely for their lives against you." "I couldn't care less about the families," Damar snarled at him. Worf's eyes grew hot. "There are times when I can forget what kind of a man you are in your company. Then you open your mouth to remind me. You have gained honor in my eyes but you have lost honor as well." "Either I have honor or I don't," Damar said with a shake of his head. "I have proven myself to you. I don't need to keep trying." "The path of honor requires commitment and dedication. You cannot just prove yourself once. You must continually show that you have honor with your every word and deed." "I'm not on your 'path of honor'," Damar sneered. "No. You are not capable of walking that path." "Let me guess why. Because I'm a Cardassian." "No, it is because you have no desire to live your life with honor." "Not with Klingon honor, certainly. I have my own code of honor. I am a member of the Cardassian military, after all." "If the Cardassian military has such a code, it is weak and flawed." Damar grabbed hold of his temper. "I and all the rest of Cardassia will prove ourselves to you when we have crushed your people. You won't be able to deny our honor then. That day is coming soon so I suggest that you prepare for it." "Brave words but nothing to back them up. Cardassia is too weak to defeat the Klingon Empire. That is not an insult. That is your reality." "Reality has a way of changing," Damar snarled. Worf stood, shaking his head. "That may be so. However, such a change isn't going to happen anytime soon. I have no interest in continuing to trade insults with you and I have to go on duty. The case of kanar will be sent to your ship. I hope that your crew will enjoy it." "They will. They'll drink it to the defeat of the Klingon Empire." Worf only nodded then left the bar. Dax stayed to give him a cool-eyed study. "You know, Damar, I have to admit. You have your moments. I suggest you start having a lot more of them and string them all together. You'll be much more pleasant company that way." She turned on her heel and walked away towards the exit. Standing, Damar growled, "Burn it." Dax looked back at him, frowning at him though her expression remained cool. "Burn it," Damar said, cold and hard. "Let those families know that their sons and daughters died bravely. Let the Klingons know that all of their children will continue to die at our hands. Their deaths will be payment for what they've done to my people." Dax only shook her head at him, as though she was sad for him. As though she found him pathetic. He kept his malevolent glare on her as she turned away again and left the bar. Damar followed her with his eyes, trying to control his raging temper. He grabbed the sandwich and bottles of kanar then left the bar. Though the crew was displeased about having to cut short their time on the station, Damar was now glad they were leaving. He couldn't wait to be away from this hateful place. He hurried through the Promenade, trying to ignore the fact that he was surrounded by people, Bajorans and humans and a host of others, who all hated him merely because he was a Cardassian. And he hated them all for hating him. It relieved him to arrive back to his ship, even if it was a reeking monstrous bucket. At least it was filled with his own kind. People who understood him and respected him. He greeted his fellow crewmen as he made his way to his quarters. Once there, he stashed his sandwich and the bottles of kanar. He hoped that the sandwich wouldn't spoil, but they didn't have a refrigeration unit to store it in. Going to the bridge, he made the repairs his first priority. Their damage hadn't been extensive. Lavek had managed to get all the repairs done in time, but Damar credited Traken for ensuring that the work had been done. He noticed with satisfaction that the supplies had been loaded up, food stocks for the replicators, and water, and other resources necessary to keep the crew fit and the ship maintained. They were nearly ready for departure. Damar felt proud of the efficiency of the crew and prouder still that he would be able to reward them with the kanar he had won. Damar got to work, making sure the crew and the ship were fit and ready to go. Throughout the morning, members of the crew congratulated him on his victory over Worf. It amused him, though it didn't surprise him that they all knew about it. Gossip spread fast among them. He didn't tell them about the kanar. That would be a surprise. Soon enough, the surprise was sprung. A large Madran entered the bridge, coming up to Damar and carrying a heavy storage container. "Quark paid me to deliver this," the Madran said. "Where do you want it?" "Set it there," Damar said, indicating the floor near the door. "Thank you." The Madran set it down and gave him a nod before leaving. Damar opened the container. Twenty four bottles of kanar, as Worf had promised. Since Traken was their quartermaster, Damar called him over and showed him the bottles. "Where did that come from?" Traken asked with a grin. "My winnings from last night," Damar said. "Commander Worf put the kanar up as a stake in our wager. This is going to be rationed just as strictly as everything else. Keep it under stasis." "I will, sir," Traken replied. Just then, Dukat strolled onto the bridge. The Gul gave the bridge a study then came over to Damar and Traken. He frowned at the kanar. "What's this, gentlemen?" he asked. "My winnings from the contest last night, sir," Damar told him. "I'm pleased to know that you won," Dukat said, looking Damar over closely. "You don't look too worse for wear. Are you going to be able to function today?" "Of course, sir," Damar insisted. "Dr. Bashir gave me medical aid. I'm fine." "Did he," Dukat said flatly. "Good. What are you planning to do with all this kanar?" "I won it for the crew. I was just instructing Traken to have it rationed like all the other resources." "The crew will appreciate your generosity," Dukat approved. "The ration limit will be two drinks per crewmember per night." "Very good, sir," Traken replied. Dukat leaned down and pulled out a bottle. "Take the rest away," he instructed Traken then turned to Damar. "Glinn Damar, come with me." "Yes, sir," Damar said, his heart thumping a bit at Dukat's tone. He moved through the bridge a step behind Dukat, following him into the Gul's office. Damar came to attention as Dukat stopped in the middle of the office to examine the bottle. "This is kanar '27," Dukat noted. "Commander Worf is quite generous." "He can be, sir, yes," Damar agreed. "This could be sold for a good price." "But it's my gift to the crew," Damar protested. "It will help their morale. They deserve it, sir." "They do, indeed," Dukat said with a nod as he set the bottle on his desk. Turning back to Damar, Dukat moved to stand in front of him, his face growing very hard. "This is the last time, Damar," Dukat lectured sternly. "Is that understood? I will never again see my Executive Officer in drunken incoherence." Damar stiffened. "No, sir. You won't." "I will not allow you to continue this habit of drinking to excess whenever you get the chance. What you do in your off-duty hours is your business, but you are going to limit yourself from now on." "I will, sir," Damar replied, feeling himself grow hot with anger. He knew that he didn't drink to excess all that often. The opportunity rarely came for it. But Dukat's tone allowed no possibility for a defense. "I wouldn't want you to lose your usefulness to me." "Neither would I, sir. It's an honor and a privilege to serve with you, sir." The compliment seemed to mollify Dukat a bit. "Thank you, Damar. You're a good officer. I expect you to continue to set a good example for our crew. Many glorious things await us and you'll see it all at my side." "I look forward to it," Damar said, wondering what glorious things Dukat was talking about. "It's going to come very soon. Our enemies will be destroyed. These difficult times are coming to an end. I know that you're strong enough to continue to endure as long as we must." "I am, sir. Thank you." "Very well. Go and see to our departure." "Yes, sir," Damar replied and left the office. He went back to his station at the helm, issuing orders to the others as he prepared the ship for departure. It annoyed him that Dukat thought that he drank too much. He had no idea why Dukat would think that. He never drank to the excess that he did last night, though he did know that there were many times when he had staggered back onto the ship after spending an evening in a space port bar like Quark's. He'd have to watch that. Limit himself, as Dukat had ordered. He thought of the bottles of kanar in his quarters and immediately felt guilty about having them. Damar brushed the guilt aside. He wasn't going to drink them all at once anyway. A drink or two at night, off-duty, was enough for him. He'd ration it like the rest of the crew had to do with theirs. He knew that he could control himself. Glorious times awaited. Damar certainly hoped so. After living in desperate times for so long, Cardassia could use a bit of glory. Something to show their allies that they were strong and noble and a race to be respected. Though with Dukat making secret negotiations with the Dominion, Damar wondered if the Federation would still be considered allies. A hand suddenly slapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see Traken smiling at him. "Thank you for the kanar, sir," Traken said. "My pleasure," Damar replied with a smile. "We all knew you could drink that Klingon under the table." "Thank you," Damar nodded. "And you should be at your post." "Yes, sir," Traken agreed with an amused shake of his head as he moved back to his terminal. "Wish we had been off-duty to have seen it," he heard one of the crew behind him say. "I can't imagine drinking with a Klingon was a pleasant experience," Daden at weapons commented. "It wasn't so bad," Damar replied. "Unlike the rest of his kind, Commander Worf lives by his sense of honor. Though he did belch a great deal." "Barbarian," someone muttered. "And you wouldn't want to sit and watch him eat." "Someone should teach those Klingons some manners," a crewman sneered. "Let it be us," Traken said enthusiastically. "Did he sing?" Daden asked. "Unfortunately, yes," Damar replied. "What thing to have to suffer through." "Well, the kanar helped." The crew around him laughed. "I'll bet it did, sir," Traken said, sounding nearly proud of him. Damar looked at him then the rest of the crew. They were smiling and light-hearted, a pleasing thing to see. An even more pleasing thing was the pride in their eyes for him. All because their Second in Command drank a Klingon under a table and won them a case of kanar. Well, they didn't have a lot to take pride in these days. Not in their grim situation. "Glinn Damar gained victory over a Klingon warrior last night," Traken announced proudly to the crew. "May there be many others." "Many others," someone called out. "Hear, hear!" Daden responded. Damar smiled. "Glorious things await us. Gul Dukat has promised it." "What glorious things?" Daden asked. "We'll have to continue to have faith about that," Damar said, putting conviction behind his voice. "But it will happen. One day soon, we'll have real victory over the Klingons." The men around him cheered at that, their confidence bolstered. Damar felt confident as well. They would endure and survive until they gained the glory of Dukat's vision of the future. "Now, see to your duties," he ordered. The crew worked efficiently around him as he brought the engines back on line and ran his systems checks. Behind him, he heard the door of the bridge open. He glanced back to see Dukat enter. "Are we ready?" he asked as he sat in the Captain's chair. "We are, sir," Damar replied. "Contact the station," Dukat said. "Let them know we're departing." Damar stabbed the comm unit panel. "Glinn Damar to Deep Space Nine." "Ops," came a reply from the communications system. He recognized the voice. Major Kira. "We're ready for departure," he told her. "One moment," she said, then Damar felt a familiar slight shudder through the ship. "Docking clamps released," Kira said. "You're clear. Try and stay in one piece out there." "We'll do our best, Major," Dukat replied. "I look forward to seeing you again soon." "Kira out," her voice sounded cold. Damar shook his head with annoyance. She never did have the right respect for Dukat. "Take us out, Damar," Dukat ordered as Damar prepared to do just that. "Quarter impulse." "Yes, sir," Damar replied, focusing on his controls. On the screen, Terok Nor pulled back further and further into the distance of space. "I miss that station," Dukat commented. "It has such an elegant design." "It does, sir," Damar agreed. "It certainly doesn't belong in the hands of the Bajorans." Dukat chuckled at that. "My thoughts exactly. Soon, however, very soon, it will be in our hands again." Damar straightened his chair at that. "I live for the day, sir." Glorious things indeed, Damar thought with a smile.   ********************** Please send comments and feedback to vmeredith@in-con.com All Star Trek characters and settings are owned by Paramount and Viacom. This site and the materials herein are protected by the "Fair Use" exemption under copyright law. This is a not-for-profit creative endeavor intended to support the Star Trek franchise. Back to Archive Back to WDFA