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DS9 Salon [PG] (G, Spock, ORC) 1/1

Title:      Salon
Author:     Hypatia Kosh
Series:     DS9
Featuring:  Garak, Spock, ORC
Pairing:    G/m, S/m implied
Rating:     PG
Warnings:   Garak is gay!
Summary:    Garak matches wits with two unexpected visitors of the 
green-blooded and pointy-eared persuasion.

Thanks to T'Len, for a little beta work; all remaining errors are my 
own. Also, thanks to Datalaur for coding advice.

   S A L O N

     14th day, 8th moon, 14989 year Bajoran calendar was a day Elim 
Garak would not soon forget. After all, it isn't every day that one 
meets a being of galactic renown. It was during that time when the 
Dominion was threatening from beyond the wormhole and the Klingons 
were harassing every ship that can near the Deep Space Nine. 
Consequently the station had become considerably less popular and 
hence was experiencing a sharp decline in commerce.

     Garak the Tailor had been in his shop that morning, changing 
displays (fashion is so fickle) and moaning inwardly about the drop 
in business. It seemed, at the rates things were going, that times 
would get worse before they got better. Then he had seen them, two 
beings in cloaks, deep in conversation, walking along the Promenade. 
They slowed, then stopped at the entrance to his shop. Customers? His 
mood picked up at the thought. Then he noticed that they were 
Vulcans. Well, that was unusual. Vulcans were notorious tightwads 
off-world, inordinately concerned that no persons, animals or 
ecosystems had been harmed in the productions of the goods that they 
bought. Garak had always mistrusted Vulcans somewhat: it was said 
that the Vulcans could have conquered half the quadrant were they not 
strict pacifists. Yet what race would willingly forgo power on 
account of what amounted to religious injunctions? The humans had 
transparently joined the founding of the Federation to expand their own 
sphere of influence; Garak was not impressed by the ideological 
justifications. But the Vulcans? Who knew what they were planning?

     Presently one of the Vulcans left his companion and entered the 
shop. The tailor put on his best manners, excited at the prospect of 
a customer, Vulcan or no. Vulcans, in his experience, always did pay 
their bills promptly and in full. 

     "Welcome to my shop. Would you be interested in the selection of 
traveling cloaks? Or perhaps a custom-made garment? I happen to have 
a bolt of fine Vulcan fabric in desert red." ('Desert Red' was an 
orange-red color, supposed to be the color of Vulcan's desert sands. 
Garak could not vouch for that, having never been.) "I do believe the 
color would suit you nicely."

     The stranger responded in a gravelly voice that the former 
Cardassian Intelligence operative would have recognized anywhere. 
"Most interesting. But, I'm afraid I'm just looking."

     The tailor was disappointed; only a moment ago he could almost  
feel the paycheck in his fingers, so to speak, and now his chances of 
getting it had fallen considerably. But in the same instant, another 
part of him had awoken, a part which was intensely curious about this 
Vulcan ex-national: former Starfleet officer, professor, ambassador, 
evangelist and spy. And although it was, in an objective sense, 
rather frivolous, he did want to find out if one particularly 
intriguing rumor about this being was true.

     "Of course, you may look around as long as you wish," he said, 
recovering quickly. "After all, it isn't every day that this humble 
tailor may invite such an honored guest into his shop." 

     The Vulcan turned around to face him. He knew the voice, yet was 
still shocked to see the face of Ambassador Spock, Spock of Vulcan, 
last rumored to have been on Romulus, last rumored to have been 
killed by some arm of the Romulan government: the military, the Tal 
Shiar . . . there was even an account of his execution before the 
Romulan Senate. So much for the usual sources. 

     "Ambassador Spock." The Cardassian bowed politely and smiled his 
most ingratiating smile. 

     "Elim Garak, formerly of the Obsidian Order, I presume?" Garak 
nearly jumped at hearing his name. There was no doubt now that this 
Spock was the *real deal*. 

     Spock's eyes roamed around the shop. "Fascinating. I suppose 
this shop is both genuine and a front at once." Spock nodded slightly 
as in understanding, an action Garak found frankly unnerving. 

     "I must compliment you on your information," the Cardassian 
finally answered. "To have recognized such an insignificant player 
such as myself. Tell me, does Starfleet Intelligence keep all 
Federation envoys so well informed?" The question was pro forma, so 
Garak was not surprised when the other brushed it off. 

     "You survived for many years in the Romulan capital. That itself 
is an accomplishment worth noting." 

     "Ah, that's nothing to tell. I was just a simple gardener." As 
he said it, with his usual deliberate diction, he looked at Spock in 
an equally deliberate way, one that was commonly understood among 
Romulans as flirtatious. He hoped to analyse Spock's reaction but 
spoiled the experiment by adding, "and I never angered my hosts by 
stealing a cloaking device."

     The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, but whether it was due to his last 
comment or the not-so-subtle looks he had been giving him, Garak 
could not be certain. 

     "I don't suppose you'll tell me how you managed to make it 
here," Garak began.

     "You might say he hitched a ride with a friend." The tailor 
turned around at the sound of a new voice, and found that the second 
Vulcan had managed to sneak up behind him. But when he pulled back 
his hood, Garak saw that he was not a Vulcan at all, but rather an 
old 'friend' . . .

     "Naranek, fancy meeting you here!" Garak put quite a lot of 
expression into the greeting, but the Romulan, for once, seemed 
unimpressed. Undaunted, Garak remarked to Spock: "it seems we have 
a mutual acquaintance." 

     "Ah, yes," Naranek piped up suddenly, "I believe you would find 
this an interesting story, Mr. Garak. You see, Spock and I met quite 
by accident -- and a most happy accident it was."

     "I see. Do continue."

     "Spock was due to be executed by the authorities -- a dreadful 
waste, you'll agree -- and I was about to be sent on the dullest of 
assignments in some Elements-forsaken backwater. Our paths crossed at 
just the right moment and we formed a partnership. We pooled our 
resources, and our wits, to make it here."

     "Ah, perhaps I erred in calling you a mutual *acquaintance*," 
Garak offered, still hoping to get a rise out of the unperturbable 
Vulcan. 

     Spock did not react, but Naranek frowned slightly. Did he have 
to be so crude?

     Neither had denied it, so Garak pressed forward. "I see my charm 
was wasted on you after all, Ambassador." He was rewarding by seeing 
Spock glance at his companion. Nothing left now but to go for the 
jugular. "But I thought," he said deliberately, "your preference was 
for humans." 

     Garak tensed unconsciously for the reprisal for that statement, 
but it never came. Instead, he was subjected to a long stare, and 
then the query, stated as if he were truly interesting in his answer, 
"define 'preference.'"

     This time he could not resist answering in a cheeky way. "A 
preponderance, a pattern of choice, over time, perhaps about thirty 
years or so?" Garak trailed off slowly, pleased by his witty reply.

     Both eyebrows shot up at that. "In Earth years, I suppose?" He 
seemed faintly amused. "I must admit, I have been asked that question, 
many times, but never in such a coy manner." He was silent for a 
moment, before continuing in a quieter voice, "but, to answer your 
question: as you define it, yes." His expression turned inwards at 
this speech and Garak now regretted his suit.

     "I apologize," said the tailor unctiously, "most ungracious of 
me to remind you of your loss." 

     Spock's gaze saw right through him. "It was a long time ago," he 
said lightly. 

     "I suppose we must be going now," said Naranek. 

     "So soon?" Garak asked, genuinely disappointed. "Won't you at 
least try something on -- for an old friend? What with the war, 
business has not be very good recently," he added quickly.

     "I seek only information," said the Romulan, "but I don't 
suppose you'd have the kind I'm looking for, this time, 'old 
friend'." 

     "Did you come here, then, only for old times sake? How touching! 
But, perhaps I may have what you need after all. So many pass this 
way . . ."

     "On Romulus I found it very difficult to obtain accurate 
information on developments in Federation politics," said Spock.

     "So your little band of revolutionaries was really not so well 
connected after all," Garak guessed, his mind spinning with 
possibilities. He felt suddenly so *alive*.

     "I'm afraid I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking 
about, Mr. Garak. I went to Romulus only to promulgate the teachings 
of Surak." 

     Garak scoffed at this protestation of innocence. One does not 
smuggle a Vice Proconsul into Federation space without powerful allies. 
"Surak's teachings are a revolution in themselves, are they not?" he 
said with a smile. "But you, I take it," he said, turning to Naranek 
"are no convert."

     "I follow my own code," he stated assuredly.

     "And does that code include transporting a valuable political 
prisoner right out from under the noses of your very employers into 
Federation space?"

     The other paused for a moment, unaccustomed to such audacity 
from Garak. He could only conclude that someone on the station must 
be protecting the wily Cardassian. "Spock knows nothing of value to 
the Tal Shi'ar," he pronounced finally. "His only worth to them is as 
a political symbol, and you well know what I think of politics." 

     "But the Tal Shiar is all politics, or have you finally had your 
fill and given it up?" 

     "As you have 'given up' the Obsidian Order?"

     "Ah, ah, ah, you should never make your tailor unhappy." Garak 
had gradually led his "customers" to his display of traveling cloaks, 
in case they were being watched, which was always a safe assumption. 

     "I'm afraid the color isn't much to look at, but the fabric is 
of the finest quality and quite warm," he said a little loudly, 
fingering a hem on a display cloak demonstratively while a Bajoran 
security officer walked by the entrance of his shop a little too 
slowly. In a lower voice, he said, "I'm afraid Federation politics is 
not my specialty, but I can tell you this: Starfleet has become quite 
paranoid about infiltration by changelings. Ironically this has given 
the changelings more power. One of them caused quite a hubbub on 
Terra, after the civilian government declared martial law.

     "Don't be concerned, old friend," he added to Naranek, "that 
tidbit is free." 

     "Old friend," countered the Romulan, "nothing is ever free. 
You've already learned far more from us than I care for." 

     "Oh, he's a clever one, isn't he, Ambassador? Can you trust him?"

     "I have looked into his mind," the Vulcan stated sonorously. 

     Garak was somewhat shocked by this admission. Telepaths! "I do 
envy you that ability. It would have spared me a truly unpleasant 
duty all those years ago."

     "Since I survived it," Naranek said generously, "you many 
consider yourself forgiven. But if you ever try it again." 

     "I am most relieved to hear that," said the former spy. "But as 
for you -- surely your employers will not take kindly to this little 
excursion into enemy territory?"

     "Now you really are asking dangerous questions, Garak." 

     The tailor took the refusal with aplomb and led them over to his 
measuring table in the back. "I do believe I have something that 
would interest you. It's not exactly Starfleet intelligence, but I do 
have insider reports on the machinations of the Federation Council 
for the last three years or so."

     "From whom?" asked Spock. 

     "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, but you will find the source 

very observant and, of course, reliable." He paused. "There is a fee, 
of course." 

     "I would like to propose an even exchange," suggested the 
Romulan, and he pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle out of his cloak. 

     "What's this," murmured the Cardassian. He pulled back the cloth 
to reveal a paper codex. It was a hard-copy printout of his entire 
Tal Shi'ar file. His eyes widened. "You don't know the trouble I went 
to -- all in vain, naturally -- to obtain a copy of this," he 
exclaimed in a whisper. 

     The tailor opened his drawer and pulled out a thimble. "I pray 
you will put this to good use," he said, offering the tiny item to 
them. (The thimble, which was a size too small for his legitimate 
use, contained a data crystal encoded in JKL, one of the most widely 
accepted file formats in the UFP).

     "You may be assured of that," said Spock as Naranek accepted it. 

     "A pleasure doing business with you," added the Romulan, rather 
sardonically. 

     "Doing business? I believe I was merely chatting with an old 
friend." The pair put up their hoods and made as if to leave.

     "Won't you stay for tea?"

     "Certainly not," Spock said plainly. For some reason, Garak was 
certain Spock had caught the reference and . . . well, better luck 
next time. 

     "Good day, *plain* and *simple* Garak," Naranek said as they 
left. 

     "Good day Commandant, Ambassador. Do come again."

     When they had departed his shop and were safely away, Elim Garak 
activated the pickup for the microscopic bug he had attached to 
Naranek's cloak. Purely for personal reasons, of course; though 
talkative, for a Romulan, Naranek always spoke as if he might be 
overheard. 

     Garak listened:

     "I would be more concerned about what the station authorities 
would do, should they learn of my presence here. I do not think that 
one will reveal us, at the cost of his reputation." 

     "Agreed. Collecting *interesting* data is more of a compulsion 
for him, a hobby, than a career. Asking him for a tip is like asking 
a connaisseur to part with a valued piece of his collection." 

     "But some things, it seems, he has little compunction about 
revealing." 

     "He was trying to elicit a reaction, I think. Did he succeed?"

     A pause, then the same voice.

     "Does that bother you?"

     "Your past is none of my business." 

     "But surely you must be thinking, a Romulan and a Cardassian . . 
. ?" 

     "Would that not be a hypocrisy? If my parents had thought that 
way I would never have come into existence. It is what we used to 
call in the 'Fleet a 'parochial attitude.'" 

     Garak hummed to himself while he changed the displays (fashion 
is so fickle). There were some advantages to not being busy after all.

   E N D

Challenge to y'all: I've set the stage for both Garak/Naranek (in the 
past on Romulus) and S/m with Garak as voyeur (audeur?) fics, which I 
invite all of you to write because anything I would do would suck. 
Spock and the Romulan could make an interesting pairing, IMHO.